


Beyond Realms and Kingdoms

by MahalsBeard



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, Thorin Oakenshield/Thranduil - Fandom, Thranduil/Thorin Oakenshield - Fandom
Genre: Bottom Thorin, Forced Marriage, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, bits of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-18 15:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahalsBeard/pseuds/MahalsBeard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a long ago promise made by the kings.  Not only of alliance but also of union.  And with that, comes a sacred blessing from the gods.  However, as tragedy descended upon kingdoms and trust ripped apart, how will two races become one again?</p>
<p>Thorin has lost his home and had lived in exile.  With encouraging words from a wizard whose wisdom he has once believed in, he set out to a journey to reclaim the Lonely Mountain.   When Thranduil saw the exiled prince of Erebor step foot in his Forest, he knew at once how the gravity of the events to follow would impact their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm kind of new to this fandom but I've read almost a hundred fanfics for Bagginshield. Anyway, I can see that there's a lack of Thranduil/Thorin stories around so I might as well contribute my devotion for these two lovely characters. Hope you like it! :)
> 
> Introduction/Prologue ahead!
> 
> By the way, please do not be alarmed right away by the Rape/Non-Con tag. I just put it there in case someone gets surprised by a part in my story where there will be "non-con" [which may appear in one of my chapters] It would only be a small part though--and not much on the violent side of things. >.

** CHAPTER ONE **

****

Steel against iron.

 

Weapons strike flesh.

 

Battle cries and screams of anguish could never be mistaken even amongst the deafening sound of earth-shattering roars. They were the roars of Dwarves, Men, Elves, Orcs, and Wargs fighting with all their might for different intents and purposes. The sight of the battlefield beheld the overwhelming lust for revenge, honor, treasure, and power.

 

Thranduil was one of the beings that have witnessed war for the centuries he has lived in Middle Earth.  Participating in hostilities was no longer new to him but never would he admit of getting used to it.  War wasn’t simply an obstacle to be treaded by ones life.  It has always brought forth a terrifying change—a loss, hatred, betrayal, a hunger that may not possibly be satisfied with a fleeting hold of power and triumph.  For the elf king, reasons for waging war were simply concocted excuses to extort an individual’s desire to be recognized.

 

His eyes searched the gruesome horizon spread out before him. With a cool and collected façade he has trained himself to perfect for hundreds of years, only he could tell the dreadful weight of anxiousness creeping in his bones. This time was no easy feat though, knowing his composure was slipping as he can already feel the penetrating gaze of his son upon the back of his neck.  He was aware that Legolas wouldn’t let himself get distracted most of the time and especially during a death-filled battle, but he could not help but share the piercing trepidation coming off of his King’s bearing. The King was terrified of something but of what exactly, he could not for the life of him tell. Nevertheless, he knew for sure the corpses of their own people and of others weren’t the sole source for the King’s appalling difference.  Stretching out his arms together with his bow and arrow, the next second an approaching Orc has his left eye pierced through to the back of his skull.

 

Thranduil merely glanced at the falling strands of golden hair on the side of his face that had been cut through by the arrow of his son. A small nod of recognition that he has indeed began to get lost in his other concerns and he has his arm striking out at dead speed to his left for another Orc attempting to kill him. There were several more that followed and the King and Prince found themselves immersed in concentration to annihilate their enemies side by side.  Their superior strength, precision in movements, and more than a lifetime of training has given them many advantages in the arts of fighting.

 

“It’s not only your sword I can feel cutting through our enemy’s guts.”  Legolas crushed an Orc’s head using the heel of his boot with an elven warrior’s frightening fervor. He gave a fleeting squint towards his father as he unceremoniously pulled out an arrow from a Warg’s mouth. He has lost all his arrows on the heads and flesh of their enemies and despite having his sword, the thought of being able to pull his bow again never fail to make him feel more at ease.

 

“Concentrate on our enemies, son.  It would do me no good to be the reason for an injury you might receive.”

 

It might be the most unwise moment to feel impressed with his heir simply because the prince can tell of his thoughts and emotions even while in battle.  He and Legolas had never been close despite a thousand years of living in the same kingdom. He was only ever a father when the prince was a mere elfling and he had to teach him the way to becoming the next ruler. But even then, he has passed the responsibility to his trusted scholars after a century of doing so.

 

“It is already an injury to see your reservations clouding your eyes.” 

A blunt strike went passed the King’s shoulder and he found himself grimacing at the blood that was dripping on his armor and beginning to seep through his robe.  Legolas pulled out his blade from the Warg’s severed neck.

 

Thranduil had no qualms ignoring his son’s words and made to turn away to face the dark beings head on once again. It doesn’t matter if his divided concentration has already been revealed so long as it wouldn’t be the cause of why he felt so enormously apprehensive.  From his side of the field, he could see men, his army, and the dwarves all scattered in their own defensive stations—battle strategies no longer evident to be of importance amidst the chaos.  His gift of superior eyesight could even see the blurry end of the war ground but one dwarf in particular he couldn’t seem to find. It was frustrating and at the same time, alarming.  The vile possibilities once again took over and he couldn’t help but brutally charge his enemies when the thought of changing his location presented to help him see what he was looking for.  He may have briefly heard Legolas shout for him but the determination in reaching his goal took over.

 

It wasn’t with a royal grace when he fell on his knees the moment he saw the Durin dwarf.  He was still a hundred Orcs’ away but that fact didn’t discourage him from pummeling dark beasts after another on his path towards the dwarf. But no matter how much speed he can gain while fighting; the approaching group of Orcs was nearing Thorin.

 

“What in Eru’s name isn’t he moving?” Thranduil bellowed in his mind and after the brief rage for the dwarf’s arrogance or rather, ignorance for the upcoming enemies, the uncertainty he felt earlier flooded him tenfold.

 

Thorin was on his knees as well.  His hand was fisted on the hilt of his blood-covered bejeweled axe planted on the ground and he wasn’t moving.  The elven King still couldn’t make out if he even was still breathing for there was a considerable distance between their positions. A sense of dread prickled his skin and he was about to scream for anyone’s attention in order to direct aid to the unmoving dwarf but was stunned silent when heavy footfalls vibrated the ground followed by a loud, guttural roar.  A giant bear was approaching Thorin fast and the elven King could not tell if this beast would be the one to give the fallen dwarf the last blow to his death. With a string of the foulest elven curses, he snatched off a bow from a dead soldier’s arm and took out a long needle-thin dagger from the folds of his robe.  The preparation to shoot the beast only took the fewest of seconds and he was about to release the blade when the bear took on the form of man. The next thing that happened, disbelief was evident on the Elf King’s eyes.  He now recognized the being and recalled his name as Beorn.

 

Beorn carefully lifted the form of the injured and barely conscious dwarf and drew him to his chest while snarling and giving blows to the Orcs still daring to do harm.  A Warg’s jaw eventually caught one of his legs as soon as he was surrounded. Even though the pain was the least of his concerns, with a Warg’s jaw attached to him, being slowed down would get Thorin all the more towards danger.  Indomitably jostling out of the digging fangs whilst crushing Orc skulls, he finally felt the jaw of the beast slacken and at first thought to have fortunately broken its mouth.  But after seeing the glint of a flimsy dagger pierced deep into the Warg’s brain, one turn of the head and he knew at once where to head for safety.

 

The elven King didn’t hesitate once he saw that Beorn was struggling out of a beast’s jaw.  He drew his bow and dagger and shot it with a veteran archer’s precision. The blade struck true and Beorn had turned his head in his direction with another goal.  It didn’t need for Thranduil to know the meaning of the man-beast’s gaze upon him.  They now had one goal. Clearing his own path from dark creatures as Beorn thundered through the crowd of enemies, their eyes met. There were no words needed as Thranduil protectively wrapped his arms around Thorin’s form at the same time Beorn once again took form as a beast.  This time he transformed into a giant lion with extended fangs and razor blade claws; unflinchingly slashed and gnawed every dark creature in their path as he carried them on his back. 

 

Thranduil’s arms gripping around Thorin almost shook when he heard the dwarf groan in pain.  He hasn’t heard a single sound nor sensed the smallest of movement from the dwarf. But hearing his agony as he was jostled about while they rode on Beorn, Thranduil never felt the drops of blood from his own mouth as he gritted his teeth. 

 

He was too overwhelmed with the indefinite prospect of saving a dying dwarf that the sight of Erebor’s towering gates went past his eyes and only the cry of someone saying,

 

“The Eagles are here!  The Eagles are here!”, made him gather his focus on the task at hand.

 

He saw few of his elf healers and dwarves alike swarming about and attending to the injured ones already transferred in the healing rooms. One elf healer noticed his presence at once and worriedly advanced towards him; unafraid of the beast they alighted from.   He hasn’t yet completely gone down from Beorn when the healer spoke. 

 

“My King!  My name is Belanor. Tell me the severity of your injuries so that I can attend to them as s—“  He cut himself short the moment Thranduil turned to face him. There was something grave in the eyes of his king and the healer’s gaze immediately settled upon the figure he was carrying on his arms.

 

One look at the gaping wound and the amount of blood flowing from it, the elf healer blanched in pure horror.  It doesn’t matter if the person his king was carrying was of dwarven race, it doesn’t matter if it was said that they were born from the stone of the mountain in which they also forge weapons and live, it doesn’t matter as they are still mortal and with this kind of wound, he could never tell if there will even be a drop of chance for it.

 

The Elven King was reciting in his mind all the herbs he will be using and the healing chants he should have to perform in order to save Thorin’s life.  When he properly turned his attention towards the healer to ask him of assistance in getting all the needed items, he couldn’t help but feel rage at the sight of Belanor’s face.   

 

“You are not entitled to be called yourself a healer if you lose hope even before trying everything that you can do in the direst of situations.”  Thranduil growled and some of the bustling healers were startled. 

 

Belanor flinched and wasn’t able to hide the shock from seeing their usually composed King’s demeanor shatter easily at this very moment.

 

“Fo—forgive me, my King—” Belanor was saying but Thranduil was already naming all the supplies he would need for the cleaning and closing of Thorin’s wounds to a dwarven healer.

 

The elven King followed another healer into the recovery rooms, but he gestured that they go further inside the halls as the process for Thorin’s injuries would not have any place for disturbances.

 

…

 

The elven King didn’t come out of the room they’ve placed Thorin into even until the day has succumbed to darkness. He didn’t even hear the faraway sound of a horn trumpet announcing the victory of men, elves, dwarves, and others who have come to their aid in battle.  As when we speak of victory in war, it was always with great loss and ruin as well.

 

Oin, the dwarf healer he has tasked to attend to him, had done more than assist Thranduil as he struggled to clean and thought all of the ways he could close Thorin’s wounds.  It also occurred to him in passing, that the elf healer, Belanor, must have chosen to give his support as well in the background for most of the herbs he had asked for were likely available from their camp’s stocks.

 

He had exhausted all of the healing chants he knew of and thankfully, it did work on the dwarf’s smaller injuries.  It was inevitable that pints of blood were lost and now, the dwarf’s complexion alarmingly blended on the newly changed white sheets of the bed he was currently on.  Thranduil was still distressed on the fact that the figure on the bed hasn’t responded yet after the grueling method he had made him undergo by searing his wounds with hot iron. The smell of burnt flesh should have been nauseating and the fact that an elf such as himself would resort to such rough mending; Thranduil wouldn’t do it any other way. –As it is, the only way left. Most of all, he wouldn’t just give up.

 

What he still couldn’t get out of his mind was the moment he laid the hot iron on Thorin’s wound, the dwarf king cried out as if he could see and feel himself falling into the pit fires of hell. And after that, the deathly silence that followed was grating on the elven King’s nerves. By now, all of Thorin’s tattered clothes and every piece of metal has been discarded.  A flimsy blanket was all that was left from the healer’s supplies and it wasn’t enough to stop the coldness starting to creep through the vents of the stone windows.  Thranduil was a bit relieved when he noticed the dwarf’s body giving small trembles. He pulled the blanket higher and realizing of the cape he removed earlier, made a grab for it and gently laid it on Thorin.  He wasn’t satisfied with the result and began unclasping his remaining armor, which is made of leather then began removing the outer layer of his robes.  These were stained with his own blood and that of his enemies but not much so that he found it revolting.  He carefully chose the cleaner side to wrap over the dwarf.

 

A few more hours of watching over the unconscious figure and with Oin’s insistence that he attend now to his own injuries [no matter how small they may appear], he ripped off some fabric from the hem of his remaining tunic to prepare as his makeshift bandage.  The dwarf healer has also left him with a portion of food to battle with his exhaustion if he really didn’t want to leave Thorin’s side.  

 

There was a knock on the door and Thranduil almost sighed. If it were Oin once again, he wouldn’t be able to help but compare him to a mother hen and announce it out loud.

 

“Enter.”  He said instead and continued to work on his own wounds, minimal as they were.

 

The double doors creaked open and from outside, entered sounds of bustling still looming and echoing all over the halls. He concluded these were the sounds of people moving back and forth from outside the battlefield and then inside the Dwarven Kingdom to help with cleaning up so as to arrange some kind of order. At that thought, he should’ve felt a bit guilty for not attending to his duties as both Kings of the two races are huddled up in one room.  But not an ounce of regret bothered him.

 

“Father!” 

 

It was Legolas.  He looked up and didn’t mind the immediate offer of his son to take over tending to his wounds. His gaze shifted lower and it landed on the fourteenth member of Thorin’s company.  The Hobbit.

 

“Master Baggins.”  He acknowledged and was a bit bewildered by the look of shock and utter sorrow on his face.

 

“I…You—your Highness…”  Bilbo stuttered, his words trailing off as soon as his eyes settled upon the figure on the bed. “H—how is…”  He could not seem to ask directly and his voice was thick with heavy trepidation.

 

Thranduil let go of his gaze on the hobbit and fell on Thorin’s.  Even he can’t say for sure if after all his efforts, the dwarf would survive.  And a sudden tightening in his own chest gripped him that Legolas thought there was an injury he had missed out.

 

…

 

He could not remember how he answered Bilbo’s question. He could not even remember if he was able to answer him at all.  All he could feel now, as he was once again left alone in the room with Thorin and the night was so dark there were no stars to give comfort to his thoughts, was the heavy pouring of loss, regret, uncertainty and dread.  Was he too late to have changed the events that happened? Will it be too late to uphold his promise?  Has the gods above rewritten the prophecy for a chance of hopes and love—that it was suddenly reformed? Thranduil didn’t have the ability to know.  All he can do is wait for Thorin to wake up and fulfill the promise that was long overdue.

 

He silently stood up from the chair he was sitting on and carefully fitted his limbs over the remaining space beside Thorin’s figure. He didn’t disturb the blankets draped over the dwarf, as Thranduil wouldn’t much notice the cold due to the tremendous emotions boiling his skin.  With graceful maneuvering, his arms were now softly caressing the unmoving figure. Fingers threading through dark silken locks and a soft kiss placed on Thorin’s forehead, Thranduil began singing of the promise he made more than a hundred years ago.

 

The elf King remained awake and the tears flowing from his eyes were the only ones shining amidst all the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a long ago promise made by the kings. Not only of alliance but also of union. And with that, comes a sacred blessing. However, as tragedy descended upon kingdoms and trust ripped apart, how will two races become one again?
> 
> Thorin has lost his home and had lived in exile. With encouraging words from a wizard whose wisdom he has once believed in, he set out to a journey to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. When Thranduil saw the exiled prince of Erebor step foot in his Forest, he knew at once how the gravity of the events to follow would impact their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have to tell you guys that I don't have a beta so yeah…mistakes are all mine. TeeHee…>.

He was drifting between something akin to consciousness and sleep. Or maybe it was just the mysterious back and forth wandering through loopholes in the world of the living and the dead. Explanations of such weren’t necessary though, as he can feel it so sure within his bones that he was already travelling towards the home of Mahal. Whether he deserved to be embraced by their All Father, it only ever falls upon wishful thinking. He could care less, for a man who has already lost his life will no longer have any chance to prove his worth.

Other things were suddenly appearing in his vision and they were flashing beneath his eyelids in vivid detail. It may be the memories of his agony before his gruesome fall on the battlefield. It may be the guilt he had felt once he realized how once again wrong he had been when he unthinkingly casted out their Halfling companion. It may be that pride of his that he could never let go as if it was the very stone their mountain was made of—unbreakable and yet filled with darkness despite all the sparkling jewels graced on its walls. This realization gnawed at his very core. It hurt. It hurts still how clear he could feel the pain clinging on his veins, gripping it and choking what little blood was left. And yet at the back of his mind, he found that this might be the most fitting punishment he should receive. He, who was briefly King Under the Mountain, was an exile of his own definition of oblivion.

…

_'Oh gods of the old and new. Oh Fathers of lands so green and of seas so blue. Reveal to me the power of faith. Bring forth to me strength so great. Thus I can change a fate so grim. And finally, be able to hold…A’maelamin.'_

For some reason, he knew that he was struggling to open his eyes. But for what exact purpose, he hasn’t a single inkling. There was a voice he could hear so close to him and yet it felt miles away at the same time. It reached his ears like the caress of a warm whisper—dancing with a melody and repeating like a rhythm. It was almost like a chant as the words echoed over and over, trailing every crevice of his heart and mind. 

Finally, some form of strength entered within him and his eyes were granted access to the world beyond the darkness. Dim light that seemed to throw flickering orange splatters was what first registered in the haziness of his vision. He was a bit frustrated at the fact that he could not make his body move in order to see more of what was surrounding him. As sure as he was that he’s nothing but a drifting soul, it doesn’t temper the addled curiosity of his mind. He has this urge to at least further explore what went beyond the after life. Furthermore, he was anxious to find out if he was going to see his father or grandfather in the home of Mahal; or would his soul be reunited with his brother. As if on cue, these hopes were shattered for the flickering light instead gave way to pick up the scattered pieces of his shallow consciousness. His eyes slowly moved around to somehow realize that he was surrounded by stonewalls with grand tapestries he can tell symbolized various parts of history which led to his conclusion that he was in a room. There were no other objects to notice and this doesn’t exactly provide him an idea if this room was already within the halls of Mahal’s home. Why would there even be need for rooms if souls can all but roam around through the endless halls and corridors? He moved on but nothing else caught his attention.

The heaviness of his eyelids was creeping back again and he thought that maybe it was due to the chants he’d been hearing in the background throughout his moment of consciousness. And then there was a strong inclination to know whom that voice belonged to. He moved his eyes back from the beginning of its travel and it landed upon a memorable figure. 

Every single element that threatened to distort the sole person who was with him in the room didn’t win against the light of familiarity. Even with his addled mind, he knew at once to whom that crown belonged to; those antler-shaped gold adorned fittingly by the sides of his head unmistakably pronounced his status as the Elven King of Mirkwood. He couldn’t deny telling himself that he was the last person he was expecting to be at his side. The Elf King didn’t seem to notice his awareness and was still silently reciting the same words he had been listening to but couldn’t quite understand. If his losing consciousness has already begun seeping all of his efforts to stay further awake, he would not have enough time to discern why a beautiful being such as this proud Elf King, would shed his glamour and be at ease with letting the ghastly battle scars, the blinded eye and damage on his face present itself to the world.

It might be possible that the Elf King must have reached the end of his life as well in the battle. But to see the presence of his soul beside him, Mahal must be mocking the arrogant dwarf King even in death. 

Before everything returned to blackness, two sets of blue gazes met.

…

“Thorin!” Thranduil whispered, irritated that were it not for his frantic prayers, he would have immediately noticed that the dwarf was finally making a response. Within the snap of awareness, the little energy he saved from shedding his glamour almost drained in an instant. He rubbed the lids of his eyes in an attempt to relieve some of his stress. 

Gently, he placed a palm on the dwarf’s forehead and was greatly relieved that by the temperature of the dwarf’s skin, it was a sign that the fever will no longer impend to start another bout. He carefully slid one of his hands inside the tunic he had wrapped around Thorin and slowly lifted up the bandages to check the dwarf’s wounds. The burned flesh were not a horrible sight as it were on the first through the third day. It has begun healing nicely, to the point that scars would be least of their concerns, when Thranduil determinedly pursued with his healing spells and had gotten his hands on more herbs and salves replenished by the healers who travelled back from his forest. Within a moment’s consideration, he decided it was time to change the dressings along with reapplying the medicines. 

…

It has been five days since the battle was concluded. Five days he witnessed Thorin’s terrifying stillness with only the violent fluttering of his eyelids giving away his struggles to fight his nightmares, his pain, and the infections trying to wound their way further through the dwarf’s bloodstream. Five days that he remained in the same room and almost in the same spot, never leaving Thorin’s side unless it was of utmost importance that he attend to his own people. Fortunately, Legolas has read through his actions that it was his duty to take over the needs of their people and has left him with his personal concerns within the walls of this room. 

Every single day he received his portion of daily meals but the painful knot in his stomach has not had the luxury of participating in accepting them. He was thankful for it, as hunger doesn’t really bother him compared to the uncertain coil of anxiousness acting like acid in his insides. 

“ _Astalder_ …when will you grace me with that fierce look of yours?” Thranduil whispered as he leant down towards the face of the sleeping dwarf. The brief meeting of their eyes earlier was not enough. It didn’t even last a second. But there was something he was able to read in that short contact. There was a hint of confusion and mild surprise in the weary, blue gaze Thorin gave him.

_'Oh my valiant one…let me see those beautiful blues come to life again. Let not my touch linger without so much as a hitch of breath from your lips.'_

Thranduil was speaking in his native language, pouring out endearments and pleas with words so smooth it slid from his lips like the embrace of his silken tunic gliding over the dwarf’s blankets as he further leaned forward. He couldn’t help the desire to run his lips over Thorin’s rose red ones—endlessly grateful that the color returned in the days he had painstakingly guided the dwarf’s unmoving body to accept supplements for his recovery. Unwaveringly, he caught those lips and caressed them with his own among the intent to warm and feel Thorin’s breath whispering on his skin. The kiss was gentle; almost a brush between two lips, but there was just the right pressure to feel the softness of Thorin’s mouth on his own ones. He wasn’t supposed to sense guilt slightly pricking him when this act wasn’t forbidden. But somehow, at the back of his mind it was, because the being he had longed for hasn’t yet found his consciousness to respond. 

A barely audible creak from the door opening made him still his progress. Sharp eyes suddenly pinned a pair of very similar ones. 

“I did not mean to intrude.” Legolas informed him once he had silently entered the room and stood in his full height. Surely, he wasn’t about to reveal his nightly routine of trying to “sneak” up on his father in order to make sure he hasn’t yet stolen the dwarven prince away from his own kingdom and bring him to whatever holy land the Elven King deemed an appropriate place for his full recuperation. However, as he stepped one foot forward, the king tilted his head in a way of telling him he knew. 

“It’s been five days.” Legolas halted by the foot of Thorin’s bed, waiting for the other person in the room to react on his statement. When not so much as a sound came from his father, he drawled.

“You are aware that there are cases wherein the body recuperates but the mind does n—“ 

“They are like the color of _Aman’s_ vast sea.” Thranduil’s voice cut through Legolas’ words and his deep tone was more than enough to loom all over the chamber. 

Confusion crossed the Elven prince’s features for a moment before comprehension took over. As if a question and the need for an explanation were written on his face, the king carried on with his words.

“I have seen it in a dream once and the image was instantly engraved in my mind.” This answered Legolas’ wonder as to how his father has visited the Undying Lands when an elf, that hasn’t yet decided the future of his fate, will never be allowed even a glimpse of the place. 

“Never was I given a chance to take notice, that what I admired the most in that image, I have beheld almost two centuries ago.” There was regret and longing in the depths of his father’s eyes and it was painful to watch for the prince had not seen that haunted look after a hundred years. 

“How long was he awake?” Legolas asked, unsure if his conclusion based on his father’s musings was true.

“No longer than a second.”—Was the brief reply.

The prince nearly deflated in disappointment but he stood his ground. When his eyes met with his father’s, he wanted to avoid the intensity of his unspoken query. With a suppressed sigh, he told Thranduil of the most current affairs going on in the Dwarven Kingdom. 

“The dwarves have yet to form an official council in the name of their king. But as of now, I presume that the dwarf king’s company is seriously deliberating your proposition, as they stand closest to him and will take heed of his feelings with regards to the appropriate decision. Even Dáin of the Iron Hills has been included in the discussion.”

A small tilt of the head from Thranduil urged Legolas to elaborate further.

“Balin, as the King’s advisor, informed me to expect their reply in the morrow afternoon. That is all.” 

…

The room was filled with tension. Silence grating the nerves of each dwarf, trying their very best not to once again start and end this meeting into one hell of a chaos. Three times they’ve discussed the Elven King’s proposal—the so-called contract of union from the time of Thror’s ruling when the former king was still clear of the gold sickness. Of course, the very first time Thranduil had mentioned this piece of crucial information, the dwarves who made up the temporary council in the name of their King, had not accepted the unbelievable terms that came together with the proposal of alliance. It wasn’t only for the fact that the contract spoke of a simple alliance of arms and trade between two kingdoms, but it was the very idea of union through marriage between two races.

Surely they would’ve trashed the mention of this plan in its ruins the first time it slipped off the Elven King’s lips for the dwarves and elves knew in their hearts what caused the wreckage of relationship between two races more than a hundred years ago. They didn’t expect though, the power of the written promise of coalition undoubtedly signed by the two kings, the leather casing of the scroll having been engraved with both the kingdoms’ crests to further solidify its cogency. And not to mention, that Balin had been one of the chosen witnesses when this contract was sealed. 

Balin’s sigh should have sounded almost inaudible but it seemed to echo all around the room for no one dared to utter a single noise. He sighed again, this time with more purpose and he looked at each and every dwarf attending this meeting. His eyes met with Dain’s before lingering for a few seconds longer on the confusing expression marring their hobbit companion’s face. It pulled a dismayed reaction from him, as he could not understand why there was such sorrow, disappointment, and turmoil mixing within Bilbo’s eyes.

“I have received report from the elf prince that Thorin has briefly gained consciousness.” 

There was immediate uproar of reactions from the dwarves. Fili had directly pinned him with wide eyes while his younger brother, Kili, had taken this opportunity to voice out his own opinion in the matter.

“Balin, this is the perfect opportunity for us to end this wretched discussion. We need only wait for Uncle’s own thoughts regarding this matter rather than accepting the Elf King’s proposal with only our unfounded beliefs!”

Balin had thought something similar of what Kili has just suggested. He had thought of it the moment he considered the consequences of what may happen once Thorin has gained consciousness. He was sure that the king would instantly feel betrayed. What stopped him short of this choice was the valid statement Thranduil himself had pointed out when he attempted to discuss the change of terms in the contract the second night he encouraged himself to visit Thranduil in Thorin’s temporary healing chamber. And the very proof that he knew deep in his heart that he will never have the power to tweak even a single word written in the scroll.

_**“I have done and followed every term in this contract. You, yourself, have been a witness in the forging of this alliance. We are not only ensuing the rules as such is the custom, but also that this is a written oath of promise from our gods. Remember that in the battle more than a hundred years old, it was not in my power to impede the existence of Smaug. Smaug was a sign. You should know it.”** _

Balin remembered the Elf King’s words all too clearly. Despite that, no matter how much he dug in his memories, there was nothing that explained the two battles to have occurred before the fulfillment of this particular contract or if it was still meant to be accomplished. There had already been too many pains, loss, and several years of struggling and for hatred to grow for something as alliance to be brought up between the dwarves and elves once again. 

“It is not that simple, laddie.” He told Kili and the young prince’s features contorted in annoyance.

“As I have said, Thorin has indeed gained consciousness but it is still uncertain when he will actually be awake and have strength for such concerns.” 

“I’m sure once Uncle awakens, no matter how weak he’ll still be, he would not hesitate turning down the Elf King’s proposition. It’s been a hundred years! You said so yourself. And Uncle is no longer merely an exiled heir to the throne of Durin. He will now have the power to change the ter—“

Two heavy fists rattled every corner of the stone table as they fell down hard on the surface, cutting off Kili’s words. The vibrating carried on, but it wasn’t only the impact on the table for the owner of those fists was trembling. Nobody could tell if it was due to anger or frustration but it was mostly likely both because Dwalin’s face was red with uncontrolled emotion.

“As Balin said, it is not that simple.” The warrior dwarf’s voice was coarse and deep but it sounded small and almost defeated. It was a moment very rare in Dwalin’s life.

Now everyone turned expecting looks toward Balin and the intensity of their gazes, even including the hobbit, made the scholar dwarf almost cower. Pulling another deep breath in his lungs, he revealed to them all the terms of the contract. They all listened, nobody ever attempting to interrupt Balin’s words. Although, the fleeting changes of reactions gracing their faces didn’t pass without him noticing. 

“Thorin is indeed the King Under the Mountain. Though, his coronation will not happen and his ruling will not be proclaimed final if he doesn’t give his hand to marriage with the Elven King. This is the ultimate term. You must also remember that there were Elf dignitaries as witnesses of this contract. They are to be convinced as well of the fulfillment of the contract. And as you can tell, I am the only one left in the side of dwarves as a witness. Compared to the influence they hold, I don’t have basis to have the power to alter the terms.” Balin paused, as the words that poured out of his mouth didn’t leave him feeling lighter but possibly even more burdened.

“If Thorin was the one promised in the sealing of this alliance, surely he must be aware of his role.” It was Dain who has spoken and some of the other dwarves nodded about this possibility. The prospect of knowing that Thorin might accept the marriage proposal with his knowledge of his part in the contract, will of course give the dwarves decision to welcome the idea of accepting the terms.

“Thorin has been enveloped with grief and betrayal. You all know of his hatred of elves. The reason to it is not groundless.” Dwalin prepared to pick up his weapons lying on the sides of his seat. “However, I know that he is aware of this century old promise of alliance.” He straightened up and hooked his weapons on the belt straps on his back. “But you should learn that when a dwarf chooses to forget, he would.” He paused and looked at the center of their meeting table. His gaze travelled over to his own corner and noticed the small cracks his fists created earlier. It was no doubt that bruises were already forming on the sides of his hands as it began throbbing the moment he reached for his weapons. Throwing a meaningful glance towards his brother, he spoke again. This time his voice went deeper and his face looked pained in its very subtle manner.

“Thorin did.” Dwalin left the room and the implications of his last two words lay heavily in the hearts of the dwarves and hobbit.

…

One knock was only needed when the deep voice of the Elf King called out to allow his entrance. The white haired dwarf bowed in respect as soon as he was inside and the knowing look he received meant that Thranduil had been waiting for his arrival. It has been for several days and Legolas made sure that they were always updated with regards to their discussion of his king’s proposal, at the same time bringing news of Thorin’s most current condition to their council.

Balin casted his look upon his king’s sleeping figure on the new bed Thranduil have asked to be brought all the way from Mirkwood. The furniture was of a very fine quality of wood, carved with the most intricate of designs inspired of course by the wilderness only the great woodland could offer in all of Middle Earth. The precious stones adorned on the sides of the bed he could easily recognize, for the possibility that those jewels may have come from past trades mined from their very own mountain. The draperies and cushions surrounding his king also came from the Elven King’s palace for they were colors that commonly elves prefer—gold and emerald thread patterns on red silk, velvet trimmings, and more woodland elements as the main theme of the images scattered all over the fabric. Even Thorin’s simple white robes had now been supplanted with elegant cream-colored wool so as to keep his temperature cool and the touch on his wounded skin comfortable. Obviously, everything was of elven brand.

The Elf King has indeed shown his boldness with his actions, unopposed and firm every which way. 

“I see you have taken liberty of transforming this room, Your Highness.” Balin commented at last for his eyes have noticeably travelled on each modification the place has undergone. Not to mention, the obvious use of the Elf King’s power so much so that he dressed Thorin with the very clothes he has chosen by himself. 

Every dwarf know that they do not let themselves be dressed with anything other than their own make without a willing consent.

“Naturally. I only see fit that Thorin will wake up surrounded by finery worthy of a King.” Thranduil met the dwarf scholar’s eyes with his piercing blue ones. He knew the look of small annoyance glinting within those darker orbs. He spoke again in compensation for the unpremeditated image of dominance the other dwarf must have read from his actions. 

“It is not my intention to offend you, Master Dwarf. Certainly you are aware that this is not the very first time I have gifted and clothed Thorin with our finery.”

Balin was a bit surprised. He may have forgotten some things before the attack of Smaug all those years ago due to his own grief and bitterness and this detail in his King’s life was now beginning to creep back in his memory unbidden.

“Aye, I remember.” The dwarf’s shoulders sagged for a moment but it was not because he felt defeated. Thranduil knew that it was exhaustion he can see molding on Balin’s features, showing him the years of trying to sort every dark creases in the state of their kingdom. This role he knew for it was a very strenuous role. To always have to stay calm amidst the chaos, to have the presence of mind when every other member of the house has gone beyond reason, and to be the voice of reason himself without prejudice. 

“There is only one purpose as to why I have come to speak with you, Your Highness.” This time, Balin straightened up. His face was now wiped of every worry or uncertainty and his tone had cleared up in order to deliver the decision of the whole council with his next words.

“The council has accepted your proposal. We will not oppose the alliance through marriage between our races. We will tell Thorin of your proposal and explain to him the terms. However, as our King has yet to gain consciousness, we will not be responsible for the actions you are going to make in order to convince him yourself.”

Thranduil nodded politely in acceptance of this decision.

“In addition, you must remember something, Your Highness. A century may only be a blink of an eye for elves, but for us mortal dwarves, it is a very long time. And for matters that have pained us greatly, we burry them until they’re forgotten.” Balin didn’t wait for any reaction from the Elf King and merely bowed before making an exit from the room. Within the deafening silence that followed, the soft closing click of the door sounded like a hammer that has fallen on the ground. And Thranduil was left to hear the echoes of it.

…

Ever since the day Thorin had showed the small sign of coming to consciousness, seven more days have passed when the Durin King have finally opened his eyes to full awareness. Many things have flickered in the realm of his subconscious while he was asleep and with the blurred lucidity of his senses, he couldn’t yet seem to grasp his hold onto reality. There were too many sounds that came to him but the main thing was that there was no sound at all. The silence currently surrounding him was too much; it reached the point where the simplest noise of fabric brushing the ground took hold of his attention. 

Thorin’s fingers twitched at his command and slowly but carefully, he moved them over the nearest object he could reach. He fisted the blankets that engulfed him and rolled the fabric with his fingers to have a feel of the soft, light quilt. It was an unusual quality from what he knew he was used to but then allowed his mind to immensely agree for the comfort it provided. A single moment of watching his hands work as he felt in himself that his whole body had been stagnant—probably for days, his mind or memory couldn’t exactly tell—made him glance at the striking color wrapped loosely around his arms that maybe even extended on his whole form. 

The fabric was silk and it proudly shimmered with its crimson radiance by the light coming from the windows. 

Thorin grunted. This wasn’t his color. He should be wearing his royal blues adorned with silver and sapphire beads on the linings. This color was meant for his younger sister Dís or for any women who’s a member of the Durin line. And even then, this shade of red was overwhelmingly bright and disputably arcane in hue. 

His eyes began to travel on the patterns of his shirt cuffs and realized the intricate swirls were images of vines and leaves flowing over the golden river sash like elegant fingers. The evidence of these completely “un-dwarven” designs triggered a reminder of the past he has strived to burry in the deepest depths of his mind. There were no clear visions of that past. His thoughts could only tell him they were unwanted footprints in his memories.

It was then he heard a voice, followed by a choked gasp.

Thorin could only grace his panic-stricken visitor with a blink before there were light footfalls immediately approaching one side of his bed. A gentle dip moved some of his blankets and slightly hesitant palms touched his cheeks. The dwarf king could not find the right reaction when a burst of tears flowed heavily from those emerald eyes.

“Bilbo…” He croaked and was surprised how broken his voice sounded. It was as if his throat had closed off and was only now allowing him again to produce words.

Simply hearing his name called, the hobbit no longer cared about whatever consequences he might receive by the time he had his arms wounded around the dwarf’s shoulders, tightening a bit in his desperation to feel him breathing and to feel his heart beating normally. Thorin was a bit surprised that he felt no ache from his injuries when the hobbit all but lunged himself over him, nor were there lingering soreness on any part of his body. 

Bilbo sobbed as he buried his nose in the silken locks of the dwarf king.

It was real!

Thorin has finally woken!

He was so relieved and happy that the instant feeling of uncertainty was threatening to creep in his veins by the event that was to come afterwards.

And it was suddenly painful, so very painful to see him conscious again and yet the presence of distance knocking at the back of his emotions kept coming inevitably stronger. It wasn’t about the rift that has gotten between them before the war. It weren’t the times he felt small and mocked while they were still in the journey. It was the impending future the rightful king in front of him has to go through that was breaking his heart. 

“I thought…the time—“ Thorin paused and cleared his throat. “—that when you forgave me…it was all but a dream.”

Bilbo could only wave his head violently; both for the absurdity of Thorin’s statement and the fact of how pathetic he must seem to be, crying so hard like a child. He leaned down again and pressed a kiss on the king’s forehead. He wiped his own tears as he straightened up and gave Thorin a shaking smile full of relief and affection. For all the times he had imagined the day Thorin would wake up, there were so many words he planned to say. Yet now as he looked at the king’s face, he was speechless—in awe of the beautiful creature who now had his eyes open, truly alive.

He couldn’t say anything. Not yet. His heart was too much of a coward to let this moment go. He felt selfish and told himself this selfishness might be the bravest thing he could commit himself to. 

…

The news of the Durin King’s awakening have massively swarmed all over the kingdom and even reached the ears of the men in Dale. Thorin was reasonably overcome with affections he received from each dwarf in his company especially from his nephews, Fili and Kili. They don’t usually expose their love for their kin so openly and with one look at their unguarded expressions, spoke volumes of how much they had been worried. Thorin was elated that despite his strict demeanor towards his companions, he was still loved and respected. He, in turn, had never felt so relieved to see his company complete and whole. 

For the following days, they have feasted their reunion together with Dain’s soldiers after Thorin had the knowledge that no celebration has graced their halls yet since the king, who has reclaimed their kingdom, hasn’t woken up. Bard, together with his own people, had also been invited to stay for two days to join their feast. The promised gold for their assistance in battle as well as the rights to be passed onto Bard’s care for the town of Men has already been granted three days after settling the fallen of the war. Balin has informed Thorin afterwards that he has sent crows to the Blue Mountains for Dís to start leading the other dwarrow clans back to the Lonely Mountain and with the Durin princess’ reply telling them they were to expected to arrive after five months or less. It’s a long journey, but the length of time waiting could never be parallel to the happiness they would have once dwarves settle back in their kingdom—their true home.

…

They were discussing the rebuilding of the destroyed parts of the mountain when an owl gently descended upon the stone ledge of the window in the council room. The size of the owl was evidently larger than that of the average and it wore a leather chest plate with the Mirkwood crest embossed on the material. Clutched carefully in its huge beak was a scroll encased in coiled vines.

Balin immediately recognized the crest and stood abruptly from his seat to receive the scroll. He remained by the side of the owl and read the contents of the letter. The others on the council made no move and only stared at Balin in anticipation. After the last word passed the old dwarf’s eyes, he looked up to search for the only hobbit member of their company, who he was aware had not been attending their meetings, and closed his eyes in annoyance.

In the sudden silence, Thorin decided to look up from the original drafts of their kingdom he had been comparing with the new architectural adjustments added to the other outline. He was confused for a moment and then his eyes caught the owl currently perched patiently on the windowsill. Same with Balin, one glance at the symbol on the bird’s chest plate and he knew at once where the letter came from. He opened his mouth to ask about the letter’s contents; anxious as to why every dwarf in the room was being this silent. Before he could utter a word, Balin had already made it out of the room. When he turned his attention to the others, they had all made their excuse and was making exit from the room as well.

Only Fili has stopped for a moment to add words to his excuse.

“We’ll see you at dinner, uncle.” He gave his uncle a tilt of his head and went out.

…

Bilbo was sitting on the wide-open crevice of a room located at the left wing of the castle. This was one of the rooms that still haven’t been touched with repairs and plenty of broken boulders and stonewalls have yet to be erected from their positions on the cracked grounds. Despite the distressing remnants of Smaug’s destruction, the hobbit has chosen this spot for it gave him the breathtaking view of the kingdom below and a sight of Dale, furthermore to the vast expanse of the great Woodland. His eyes stayed gazing at the trees and other kinds of greens proudly fencing the kingdom of the great Elf King, Thranduil. His brows twitched and the view suddenly posed a sad reminder. A curse came out of his mouth unbidden and he bit his tongue for it. 

He still couldn’t do it. It had been more than two weeks now since Thorin has gained consciousness and he hasn’t had the heart to speak to the dwarven king with regards to the reason as to why Balin had to keep postponing the official announcement of his coronation. He reached his hand inside his coat pocket for the parchment and read its contents for the umpteenth time. It was the letter from Thranduil he had gotten four days after words of Thorin’s consciousness had been announced. The letter was unhesitant and to the point:

 

_“To the Honorable Council of Thorin II Durin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror,_

_I regret that I was not around by the time the Crown Prince has finally woken. I humbly ask if you have carried the end of your bargain in informing him of my proposal of alliance and your acceptance of said contract and its terms included._

_I have planned to visit with my officials and own council after a week to proceed with my formal offering of hand in marriage. You need not worry about any preparations, as it is my duty to get everything in order for this union._

_I will be expecting a response._

 

_Yours,  
Thranduil Oropherion, King of Mirkwood.”_

 

Bilbo had once been tempted to crumple this particular letter when his raging Took side almost got out of control, only to be placated nearly too late by his Baggins blood and the awful reality of this so called proposal. He’d been holding onto this without speaking about it with Balin as he had strictly requested of him to be informed at once when a word gets sent from Mirkwood. And he felt odd and cruel in a way for he knew that keeping this might only jeopardize what the old dwarf have been trying to keep pacified. But Dwalin’s firm rejection of the possibility of this union, as well as the decision that he couldn’t allow for Thorin to be permanently bonded with the Elf backed his decision to keep quiet for a while longer. Nevertheless, the days of waiting for their king to wake up and knowing that something like this long ago promise should impede with Thorin’s main purpose of surviving, undoubtedly broke down even Fili and Kili’s resolve.

But the nerve! Bilbo pressed his lower lip with his teeth. 

_'Why does this elf king easily address Thorin as if he is nothing more than a child to him? He is undeniably centuries older than the dwarf king and Thorin must have been named and called “Crown Prince” when they have first met but he is King now!—Definitely the "King Under The Mountain" as he had rightfully reclaimed his homeland.'_

This boldness is really making him irritated. King or no, Immortal or no, he should give respect towards the dwarf king considering he had caused the reason himself for Thorin to hate him. 

In his deep musing, he didn’t have the chance to notice the figure already staring at the letter loosely clasped within his fingers. The paper was snatched from him on the next second and a heavy thump beside him gave caution as to whose fingers were now gripping the letter. There was silence first as he waited Dwalin to finish what was written on the scroll and didn’t even think about how the warrior dwarf would pummel him for keeping this for days from the whole council.

The sound of the parchment being crumpled pulled his attention and he gawked at Dwalin with wide eyes. A low rumble came as the warrior let out a sigh. His thick brows were pulled taut and Bilbo knew for sure that he, too, must have found the Elf King’s way of addressing Thorin a kick to his dignity as if he himself was being mocked. The next expression that formed on his features though, confused the hobbit immensely. The dwarf looked resigned.

“You shouldn’t have kept this from us. It seems you received this several days ago.” Dwalin was waving his head; further pointing out in this gesture that Bilbo didn’t make a wise decision. 

The hobbit, in turn, couldn’t find an excuse, as he would only sound selfish. And didn’t he say that he wouldn’t care if his actions right now were selfish?

“Thranduil sent another letter while we were in the middle of discussing the construction of the kingdom.”

“Wha—What?” Bilbo sounded a bit panicked but he tried to cover it with a cough.

“The bird must have received a spell from the elf himself to ensure that he will be able to track the presence of the king whilst it calls for attention from one of the council.” 

At this moment, Dwalin turned to look directly at Bilbo. 

“Two days from now, he will make an official presence in Erebor to ask Thorin for his hand.” 

“Two days!!!” Now Bilbo made no attempt to hide his panic. “I—I haven’t…I never mentioned…any—anything t-t—to Thorin yet.” Sweat formed on his temples and although Dwalin was a bit disappointed for the moment towards their hobbit, he didn’t have the heart to scare him more than he seemed to be.

“Nothing can be done about that now, lad. You’ll have to tell Thorin right after dinner.” Bilbo turned to him so fast, he thought he received a whiplash out of nowhere.

…

The hobbit dreaded every step he took as he followed Thorin towards his chambers. He still cursed his very own being after the embarrassing ear-grating high-pitched request for the dwarf king’s private audience. He could clearly remember the dwarf taken aback by this rather alarming announcement at dinner and could only give a brief nod in return before hearing the screech Bilbo’s seat made when he all but tumbled back down. It was only Kili who took pity on him and silently passed him a big mug of ale to decrease the jumping of his nerves.

Familiar with the royal halls they have now entered, Thorin stopped fleetingly in front of his door before pushing it wide open. There was no need for him to gesture for Bilbo to come inside as the hobbit welcomed his own person into the room and already made comfort with one of his armchairs near the hearth. Thorin couldn’t deny the surprise, as their hobbit never showed him this kind of boldness before. It was also the very first time the Halfling had requested a private audience with him. He closed the door gently and padded towards the other armchair near Bilbo. 

Silence dragged between them and Thorin was starting to feel a bit uneasy with this mysterious behavior Bilbo was showing.

“Bilbo…” He began only to be cut short by the sharp emerald eyes that were now looking straight at him. 

The Halfling sat so still as he stared at him. 

Although Thorin had experienced being gaped at like one of the piles of gold displayed in their treasury countless times, he didn’t know how to respond to this intense scrutiny Bilbo was throwing at him.

“I’m sorry…Thorin.” The hobbit said softly, almost like a whisper and Thorin had to strain his ears to hear it. 

“For what, Bilbo? I’m afraid I do not understand this behavior of yours.” 

“I…” Bilbo filled his lungs as he inhaled and released a quivering sigh. “I have been tasked to be the one to inform you about King Thranduil’s proposal.” He finished with a choke as if the words he had released took hold of his remaining breath.

Thorin recalled the owl that delivered a scroll Balin received earlier in the afternoon. He was meaning to ask about it but the sudden decision of his whole council to retire to their ‘other’ duties didn’t give him a chance. He had forgotten to ask again while at dinner, too busy tending to other concerns of his kingdom he had missed while he was still unconscious. 

If this ‘proposal’ will all be about renewing the contract about trade and arms, then surely Balin would take care of that. He could no longer afford to deny once again the need of support from the elves while their kingdom was still vulnerable as it is only beginning with its revival. And also, several dwarf soldiers have given him the information that it had been Thranduil who had tended to his injuries even before the battle had ended. Not that he would let himself feel like he owed something great to Thranduil but it seemed that with this knowledge, the Elf King gained respect from some of the dwarves. This fact couldn’t merely be ignored for the sake of his own prejudice.

“—in marriage…” 

Thorin must have drifted while the halfling was still speaking for Bilbo’s words didn’t get to reach his ears. The other noticed this and with more determined eyes and louder voice, the hobbit repeated to the dwarf king what Dwalin has spoken with him earlier.

“To fulfill the contract that have been forged by your grandfather and the Elf King more than a century ago—Two days from now, King Thranduil, with his council and officials, will make an official appearance to ask your hand in marriage.”

As soon as the meaning of the words Bilbo said to him finally registered in his mind, no matter how hard he had tried and wished to sojourn this day until the end of his life, the century old memory he had painstakingly suppressed for several years broke down the barriers to his past. 

He knew about this contract. He should have forgotten about this for the years of hatred he harbored towards the elves for leaving them in the ruins Smaug has caused and brought forth their exile. He has forgotten about it and yet, his efforts have finally failed him in the end.

NO.

No. He can’t accept this. He will not accept this vile proposal. After all the events he and his people had to go through? This contract should have been burned along with the terrible destruction he had witnessed of his kingdom. 

“The whole council has accepted this proposal, together with its terms.”

Thorin abruptly stood up by this statement, disbelief clear in his eyes. 

Bilbo should have been prepared for the look of utter betrayal written on the dwarf king’s face as he declared the agreement of all the council members regarding the contract of union by marriage between the two races. He should’ve known this would be Thorin’s reaction about their decision. Everyone knew in their hearts that Thorin would be devastatingly disappointed with all of them. But this look that Thorin was giving him now was full of helplessness and he couldn’t, in his power, wipe it away.

Bilbo could only bury his face in his hands as Thorin stormed out of his own chambers.

…

_Was he selfish?_ Both his Baggins and Took blood didn’t have an answer for him. 

He couldn’t put all the blame to himself, though. The whole council decided it. It was King Thror and King Thranduil who made this contract in exchange for Thorin’s freedom to rule a kingdom that was supposed to be rightfully his.

Bilbo cried in his palms, pretending that with his tears, something would hopefully change the fate of his dear friend. An unknown voice screamed in his thoughts when he suddenly felt his fingers already clutching the golden ring he had found at the Goblin’s lair. 

_**'It is the world that is selfish…'** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the kudos I've received! Sorry it took me almost a month to finish the second chapter. I don't really want to post a chapter when this story is WIP but I couldn't help but be excited to well…share my passion for Thorinduil. I hope you keep patient with me! Thanks again! 
> 
> COMMENTS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! <3 
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Elven Word/s:  
> A'maelamin - My beloved
> 
> Astalder - Valiant One


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin had dreaded this day to come ever since Smaug took Erebor from his people. He didn’t even expect for the Elven King to carry on with this contract his grandfather himself have offered to Thranduil; knowing how grave the rift between their people have brewed for years in exile. 
> 
> And now, there was no other way to get out of this god-forsaken promise of union.
> 
> Disclaimer: I wish I could build a universe as great as Tolkien’s creation. Still, fan fiction is the next best thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So this is where the warning "rape/non-con" will now apply. Although, you won't actually have to worry about details because well...I have vaguely described those parts. OR if I'm wrong and it is somehow triggering, I apologize in advance. But I think I totally suck with these kinds of 'smut' scenes so basically there's not much to be anxious about. Not really.
> 
> I don't have a beta. I edit my own sentences so if there's something wrong in there--it's all my fault and I'm proud of it.
> 
> Hope you like the update! :) 
> 
> Pairing: Thranduil [Elven King of Mirkwood] and Thorin 
> 
> Genre: Romance, Angst, and Friendship
> 
> Warnings: Drama, Slash, Non-Con, a bit of violence.

Balin was reading another letter an owl dropped off directly to his hands when he passed by the hallway to his quarters. The owl was a different one and its simpler insignia wounded around its other leg told Balin that the sender must have delivered this letter in secret. He was surprised receiving a second letter so soon when he hasn’t even started a reply to the previous one that arrived early this afternoon during the council meeting. There was no wonder in his expression though, when he read that the scroll was addressed to him specifically. The advisor sighed and sat boneless on his armchair by the fireplace as soon as he finished reading the last words written on the parchment. A headache began its vicious attack on his head as guilt gnawed at him.

The frame of his room’s entrance almost rattled off the stonewall by the fists banging on his door and Balin shot up from his chair as if the cushion burned him. The night was no longer young, considering the whole company have gone down to eat dinner later than usual and most definitely it wouldn’t be Dwalin for his brother was feeling like he just committed treason against their King when he mentioned that he had threatened Bilbo to speak of the proposal with Thorin before more chaos could erupt by the time the Elven King has arrived in their halls.

There could only be one person on the other side of his door and he contemplated whether staying calm and oblivious would save him from the onslaught of accusations that he was about to absorb. Another hard thud on the door and he slid the letter carefully within his inner robes before moving to let the man enter his room. A cold expression and barely concealed look of hurt greeted him as soon as his eyes met the piercing blues of the Crown Prince. Nevertheless, it didn’t stop him from interrupting the words Thorin were about to growl right on his face.

“I assume Master Baggins has delivered the news about King Thranduil’s arrival.” Balin said, almost casually. He didn’t wait for any reaction and strode towards his desk to grab the large wine decanter before expertly pouring a generous amount of the alcohol into two gold goblets. The advisor almost hesitated approaching the still form of Thorin staring at him blankly; seething and anger seemed to have gone from his stance. The Crown Prince ignored the offered goblet and Balin became uncertain for a moment for he had surely expected Thorin to lash out and throw the goblet back to him just to see how much the wine would burn his eyes. He wouldn’t dodge any attack from the younger dwarf for he was aware how much this old contract would affect his status as the rightful heir to the throne of Durin. Thorin has all the right to lose his composure and express his aggravation through violence.

Balin deposited one of the goblets on the table near his armchair and sipped some from his own before speaking. He didn’t dare sit and offer one for the tension between them was too delicate. 

“We have two days to prepare a welcome banquet for the arrival of the Elven King and his council. Some of his military officials will also come as our tradition dictates him to do so and he has willingly complied.”

With that kind of requirement to go through for the formality of offering a proposal to another kingdom—the Dwarven Kingdom—, it was no doubt a great risk in Thranduil’s part to leave Mirkwood vulnerable without his best warriors guarding his territory's gates. That vital point in Balin’s statement has just increased the Elven King’s integrity and willingness to put his royal house in line with securing the union with the Durins. 

At this moment, Thorin had now averted his eyes towards the burning and crackling wood in the hearth. He had remained standing, unaware of the worried glances Balin kept on giving him as he carried on with explaining and reporting to him the tasks he took the liberty to distribute among the council members. His face was eerily blank but deep within his eyes several emotions swam until Balin could no longer accept the silence from his King.

“By Mahal, Thorin!” The wise dwarf finally lost his equanimity and slammed the goblet hard on the table. 

Surprisingly, this got the Crown Prince’s attention and he was reminded of his own purpose for coming here. He had banged on his advisor’s door when rage took over him like a dark blanket strangling his very being. He came in with the intention to express how very much thwarted he was after hearing Bilbo confirm that his own kin, the closest ones to him even, have agreed to give up the last valuable thing he could claim himself his own. However, he could no longer remember a single word he was supposed to say to his most trusted advisor. All he could suddenly feel was defeat and resignation. He knew himself better than to submit easily to this kind of circumstance as a King, but then it was the contract that reminded him of the real situation. He wouldn’t even be King if he didn’t agree to this. Balin and the whole council, including Dain, had all agreed upon its terms. They have carefully and rightfully considered the consequences if the contract wasn’t to go through. No matter what past he had endured, since the late King Thror has given half the life of this contract, he was now the one who should bear the responsibility as the promised heir. It was specifically his name that had been written on the proposal. 

“Thorin…” The voice that had been calling him when his mind drifted was now gentle. Balin’s aged palm carefully cradled his face like that of an older brother and he reveled in the fond memories when the wise dwarf had always been by his side ever since he was young. He sighed shakily and closed his eyes.

“Thor—in…I am truly sorry.” Balin was crying and he didn’t try stopping the tears that began to flow from his eyes. Thorin looked at him properly and saw the enormous guilt and sadness through those dark orbs. The last time he had seen the old dwarf cry was after their attempt to reclaim Khazad Dum when there were more loss than victory. 

“It’s not your fault, Balin.” His own voice was hoarse. Lightly squeezing the old dwarf’s hand, he bent down to grab the goblet that had been offered to him and downed its contents in one gulp. His brows knitted for a second at the smooth taste. He was used to drinking dwarven ale and was surprised when the wine started to warm pleasantly in his stomach. 

“If you must know, it was Bilbo who gave me this wine.” Balin blurted out as if it was written on Thorin’s face that he presumed the wine must have been a gift from the elves. 

The dwarf ‘prince’ faced him and attempted a smile but failed miserably with the trembling twitch of his lips. He turned for the door and paused to speak,

“Tell Bilbo that I do not hold anything against him. He doesn’t have an ounce of fault in this matter.” 

As soon as Thorin left Balin’s quarters, he felt the weight of responsibility grow heavier on his shoulders. He knew in himself that he promised to protect his people, to offer his life for the sake of their safety and their trust in him so that he could once again establish a strong kingdom for the whole of Erebor. He was aware that it was a lifetime commitment and he would do everything in his power for it to stay that way as long as he lived. But now it seems that even within the confines of his own chambers—that he will be forced to share in the near future—wherein he could only be his own person and just being an uncle to his nephews, he will soon no longer have the luxurious opportunity freedom could offer him. His sanctuary will not be his alone in two days time.

Thorin would never admit how this thought scared him greater than the wars he had already faced.

…

The next day, Balin made it his task to inform each member of the council and Dain that Master Baggins has already spoken with Thorin about their agreement in regards to the contract with the Elven King. It was a relief as much as expected disappointment on their part when their king didn’t show up at the dining hall. There was a visible tension floating around them. No matter how abundant the breakfast laid out on the table looked appetizing, they painstakingly struggled to swallow their food with the smallest amount of enthusiasm. No one broke the lingering silence. No one mentioned the absence of their hobbit companion as well. They could only tell for sure that Bilbo was now wallowing in guilt he should not blame upon himself. 

Balin made sure to send his replies to the letters he received yesterday separately with two ravens before calling the start of meeting in preparation for Thranduil’s official visit to Erebor. The council members filed in one by one in the room by the time they all finished with their own personal routines. The old dwarf observed the solemn faces of the dwarves. In particular, Fili and Kili’s faces were masks of alarming trepidation. These two were obviously afraid how their uncle would look at them after practically participating in selling his pride to the elves. 

They waited for their king to arrive, as it was his right to oversee the proceedings for the arrangements of the upcoming gathering. But no one could be sure if Thorin would actually want to partake in discussing the day his life shall be offered in order to solidify his sovereignty for Erebor.

It was Dwalin’s loud sigh that perked up the heads of the other dwarves. Dain looked at the Head of the Royal Guards expectantly. The warrior stood up.

“I’ll check if he’s still in his room.” He made a move for the door and Fili stopped him in time to volunteer to do the task himself.

“No, Master Dwalin…I—I’ll go.” He exchanged looks with Kili and with an encouraging nod from his younger brother, turned to exit the room. 

At exact same moment the Durin heir opened the door, Thorin was about to turn the knob himself. Two sets of blue eyes—one a little darker and the other brighter—connected in that fleeting instant. Fili immediately scrambled off the way to give a path for his uncle. Thorin acknowledged him with a small nod and a straight expression. The young heir frowned at this. He wasn’t bothered by being barely acknowledged but his uncle looked more tired than he has ever seen him when they were still doing odd jobs and blacksmithing in the towns of men. He could not compare this to the time they fought in the war for that was a different case altogether. Fili felt his guilt tenfold.

Once the Crown Prince reached the seat at the head of the table, one gesture and the meeting begun.

…

Two days were not enough to have prepared him for this visit to finally arrive. Two days will never be enough to give him time to clear his thoughts and just let the following events to occur without so much as a painful anticipation gripping the insides of his stomach. He couldn’t breathe right. He couldn’t school his expression to keep it straight and unfeeling. The gathering anticipation in his gut only added negative fuel to the purpose of today’s meeting. 

He didn’t want to run. This wasn’t him. He was bred to bear the responsibility of being a Durin ever since he knew how to read the runes of the dwarves and was able to speak a full sentence of Khuzdul, their sacred language. But now he couldn’t seem to stop from fleeing from his room and treading almost blindingly through the secret passages inside their mountain towards the labyrinth of caves leading to the bustling marketplace of Erebor. It was a small mercy that he hasn’t worn his royal robes to make him enormously obvious of his status; although maybe the intricate braids he was currently wearing could be the blatant indication that he was indeed, Thorin Oakenshield.

He went passed the merchants and other civilians in the busy crowd, entirely oblivious that most of them were giving him shocked expressions in recognition of his face. He wasn’t aware of it. He could only pay attention to the strong determination in getting out of this part of the village he had entered, and maybe slip out of the guards’ keen alertness—who definitely were trained to know him however the circumstances are—to get out of the mountain.

Of course the guards recognized him instantly as soon as they have caught the significance of the braids of his hair. But they were careful not to encourage ruckus while being in the surrounding of too many villagers. It wouldn’t do good to have to explain why the crown prince seemed to be trying to escape when there was an official visit that would be coming from the Mirkwood realm. They were now calmly tracking the position and movements of Thorin. 

It will be another gate before Thorin could successfully get out of their kingdom to maybe stay at the woods uphill, west of their mountain—just about an hour on foot. He decided to change his direction, going straight for the side gates where there will be less guards and ask them casually for him to be let out. These guards may question him, not to mean disrespect but to assure his safety. It would be easy to manipulate them with a few words so the crown prince carried on with his path. He had been unaware all throughout when the officials of Mirkwood have made their entrance several minutes ago. 

…

When the guard at the tower spotted the arriving assemblage of elves, his hand had instinctively moved to grab the robe to ring the bell in order to inform the sentries. Before he could do so, an owl landed firmly on his arm with a scroll tied around his left claw. Reading and instantly understanding the contents, he whistled to get the attention of one of the sentries and gestured to open the gates without blowing the horn. The only symbol they were given to trust this order was the insignia of Mirkwood stamped on the scroll and one warrior elf that had advanced before their King.

The gates opened, bellowing an impressive creak in announcement to the advent of the Elven Court. The civilian dwarves were not fazed at the moment, still busy going on about their businesses for their own preparations to welcome the elven warriors who they were aware have helped their kingdom to survive the battle and be built to the way it was before Smaug. Not everyone would of course be inclined to participate, as some of them haven’t still found in their hearts to forgive the time when these elves abandoned them. However, they have also found it in their minds that they wouldn’t hold too much grudge in favor of bringing honor to their own King. The people of Erebor have been informed the news for this celebration of union between dwarves and elves and there had been no objection so far—no one daring to break the fragile peace that they’ve only just gained mere months ago.

Thranduil scanned the crowd in silent observation. He will not deny feeling lightly elated seeing the dwarves going over their own preparations for his arrival. He knew it was for him for several of these dwarves have made the effort to bring him gifts in his kingdom. He would also never have the thought of being against the other dwarves who haven’t forgiven him for the century old decision he had to make for his own people and in rectitude of the dreadful but inevitable fate of Erebor.

Finally, he gestured for his guards to enter the gates before him and followed them. Slowly, when the dwarves have taken notice of the approaching elven officials, they parted in respect, awe, and uncertainty—all in reticence. It was written on their faces how it surprised them that the elves didn’t choose to enter Erebor without so much as a grand roaring of horns to warn them of their presence. 

The Elven King paid no heed to the quiet whispers that were emerging from the people they were passing by. It was no doubt simple curiosity tugging their lips to gossip as to how the proposal of alliance would go through when the two royal houses have finally gathered together. They were not informed of one important fact that this was no simple alliance in terms of arms and trade. One topic in particular caught Thranduil’s notice though, and the concern that had been shyly bothering him suddenly came to light. He knew he should have acknowledged this odd but familiar feeling as soon as it emerged amongst the anxious nerves that thrummed throughout his body.

He halted and his guards immediately took notice. The Elf King guided his elk towards another direction and didn’t bother to check if his officials would follow him because they will surely do. He can feel it more clearly now that he has given this feeling its rightful and proper amount of attention. It was this pull he thought he had lost forever. It was this connection he had longed for.

Amidst the continuously moving throng of dwarves, one look at the particular form he’d been familiar with for more than a century and the pull had began to be overwhelming. He wasn’t expecting this drastic change in his emotions but it was very welcomed more than he could ever admit. The only factor causing him to gain as much control needed for this swell of sensations was that the dwarf prince has yet to recognize this spiritual link. 

…

Thorin stilled the moment he felt the people surrounding him fall into a deafening silence. The resounding thuds of horses and armor boots were what broke the seemingly endless stillness around him. A different tone of released breath piqued him into curiosity and he turned to face whoever or whatever it was that made his people gawk in open wonder. All plans of escape were now being annexed by incursions of inevitabilities. He has no power against it. 

 

It was not Thranduil’s intention to bring forth his presence in Erebor to be that of an intimidating one. He couldn’t help but wince inwardly when he noticed the small backward step of Thorin when he came face to face with his elk. His elk was the biggest of its kind, a sacred gift given by their maker, and the same one he had ridden when he had supposedly offered aid to the preservation of the dwarven kingdom. He almost felt regret by bringing his beast as his ride when it can all but trigger hatred from Thorin again, but his elk was the very symbol of his status and the right he has as the lord of one of the biggest woodlands of Middle Earth.

One smooth glide from the saddle and he now stood between his elk and Thorin. 

Thorin froze minutely but there was no way he would embarrass himself in front of his own people. He straightened his stance to appear as regal as he could. He was a King, dammit! He would face this elf bearing the honor of his Durin line and as the leader of his entire race. The elf king offered an open palm to him and he looked up in confusion. 

“I will oblige in carrying on with my proposal in front of your people—out in this crowd and them as your valid witnesses—right at this moment. I will not regret it. But I do believe it may not be what you wish.” The words were stated without mockery. The deep voice of the elf king resonated as if he had just made a new law, his expression serious and waiting.

The murmurs from the dwarves in the crowd grew louder and bolder. The very words of the elf king have given light to the truth some rumors others may have conjured when the contract of alliance had been announced a week prior to today. Thorin immediately became uncomfortable but he stood his ground. He was a bit taken aback when Thranduil gradually changed his posture in what seemed to be a position preparing himself to kneel on the ground. The dwarf king stilled for a moment but had the presence of mind to grab Thranduil’s hand before he could perform his official proposal in Erebor’s marketplace. No matter how much he doesn’t want for this marriage to actually occur, it would be a slight to let a King such as Thranduil’s caliber to have done this in front of merchants and mere civilians as witnesses. He looked around and saw the line of royal officials regarding him with what may be their own version of wonder through those reserved facade.

Thranduil tightened his grip on Thorin’s hand and guided him towards his elk. He wounded an arm around his waist and effortlessly hoisted him up the front seat of the saddle without so much as giving the dwarf prince the chance to react, following soon after to hold onto the reins. With a respectful nod towards their audience, he led his soldiers towards the royal palace of Erebor. 

“I will not let you fall.” Thranduil murmured when he noticed the way Thorin’s knuckles turned white by his death grip on the front arc of the saddle. The dwarf prince’s hands twitched.

“You don’t ever do that to me in front of my people.” Thorin growled. The elven officials may have glanced his way but he didn’t care. 

“Understood.” Thranduil conceded. “Not until the end of this week.”

 _‘When the day that you’re officially bound to me…Not until then.’_ —Were the words unspoken but undeniably indisputable.

…

Thranduil had knelt down on his left knee, graceful limbs folding in one smooth motion. His crown, bearing the majestic antler-shaped branches made from the hardest wood outside of Middle Earth—the Quebracho—coiled with the former Greenwood’s finest treasures, was seated upon his head as if the very jewels of the forest came to life with the elven king’s existence. He was wearing a simple leather-coated mithril breastplate and armguards embossed with the royal crest; his inner garments followed his movements like the loyal wings of an eagle. From everyone’s point of view, he looked every bit of the King that he was. He looked regal and almost ethereal in this impressive show of status—not to boast and intimidate but to stand equal with his intended.

Thorin’s robes were similarly remarkable. He belonged to the house being asked in marriage and so it was not necessary for him to wear his armor. According to both kingdoms’ ancient tradition and the cursed contract, he was the one to be joined in the royal house of Oropher. He will be the one to accept their name and to carry it together with his title as King of Erebor. It will be an enormous fissure in his pride to be called Consort to Thranduil when the marriage has been done. The only ever reason he would be willing to do this was because it would solidify his place as the rightful King Under the Mountain. And he would do it, without any doubt, for his family and his people.

Two sets of blue eyes stared at each other in what seemed to be an eternity, before the words that will firmly confirm the graveness of this promise of union, have finally been spoken by Thranduil. 

…

Thorin stared blankly outside his window. He’s been doing so for the past several minutes since the tailors who have assisted him with his wedding robes and light armor left his chambers. He could not feel a thing. He was numb and unaware of the frantic servants, dwarves and elves alike, trying to finalize the royal wedding preparations to its utter perfection. Even Balin and Dwalin’s visit to him, offering words of comfort, assuring him of their loyalty and protection drifted like a fleeting memory. 

This show of trying to make this day as excellent as any other ‘real’ marriages should be was pathetic. If only those oblivious dwarves and elves knew of the real reason this marriage has to take place, they wouldn’t go to such lengths in order to bring forth a grand celebration. 

He was too far-gone in the world of eternal vacuity that he didn’t hear his heir knocking and entering his room. Fili had been nervous when he decided to visit his uncle. He and Kili had been arguing who would be best to talk with Thorin before the wedding, considering there hasn’t been much opportunity for interaction with their uncle these past few days. In the end, Fili had always been the tactful one between brothers. So here he was, standing awkwardly by the door, before the thought occurred to him that he could obviously tell that Thorin didn’t have his usual alertness to sense that there was already someone in his room. The blonde Durin took little, careful steps and gained a bit of confidence when he stopped just beside his uncle’s seat by the window. He placed his hand lightly on the crown prince’s shoulder.

The sudden weight on Thorin’s shoulder couldn’t stop him from flinching. A small amount of red blossomed on his cheeks and he immediately cleared his throat to drive away the embarrassment of being caught off guard. He shifted his position so that he could properly look at Fili’s face. He was surprised, of course. There had been no sign from his nephews that they would be talking to him soon. Fili’s presence, he realized, was a great comfort. Thorin smiled. The blonde Durin was instantly taken aback that the tears he’d been schooling not to flow unbidden were now freely pouring from his eyes. 

“Uncle! Forgive me. Forgive u—us. I—we—we didn’t…didn’t want this to happen. We thought of every possible way for you not t…to have to go through this. But Balin said there was no other option…that he doesn’t have the power to change it.” Fili choked on his words but he carried on. “I—I tried, Uncle. I had asked if I could replace you. I would marry Thranduil if only it would let you rule Erebor without this contract binding you to share your life with an elf…”

Fili’s hysterical apologies stopped as soon as Thorin’s firm palms caressed his cheeks. He leaned into the touch and felt guilty by taking comfort in the understanding eyes his uncle was giving him. He should be the one giving comfort, not the other way around. It was not him who has to give up his freedom in order to secure the safety of Erebor.

“Thank you. I am truly honored that you have fought for me. But it is my responsibility alone. I have to accept it.” 

Without any thought, Thorin bent forward and pressed his lips on his nephew’s forehead. He was aware that this was never part of his character to show such vulnerability even towards his family. It was also not the way dwarves show their affections but he could clearly remember the way his own mother would kiss him on his temple so tenderly that the harsh memories of his nightmare would magically dissipate. Fili’s eyes widened for a second but melted to the gesture in acceptance. He put his arms around his Uncle, careful not to put creases on his wedding robes and whispered,

“May I? I mean…may I do your braids?” Fili offered hesitantly as there might be a reason why his Uncle did not let the servants from earlier braid his hair. After a moment’s breath, Thorin nodded with a smile.

It would be Fili’s first time doing these elaborate braiding patterns symbolizing the house of Durin. He learned how to do it as his mother wanted him to do so when he’ll be taking his own Consort in the future. (It always made him wonder why his mother insisted that he must be the one to braid his wife’s hair.) 

There were two kinds of this braiding system; the simpler one serving for engagement and other royal celebration—which Thorin had worn the day Thranduil made his formal proposal—and the more complicated one would be exclusive and duly for weddings. As the male heir to the throne of Durin, Thorin was not supposed to receive this process of braiding. But since he was to join the house of King Thranduil—considering that the Royal Oropherion Family was much older and held a bigger part of land in Middle Earth than the line of Durins, it would only be right to partake with this tradition in their family.

Thorin suddenly wished that his sister, Dís, was already here.

…

By the end of the Elder Elf’s proclamation, telling them to seal their spoken vows of marriage, Thorin had not been expecting to be brought up to his toes and feel a gentle hand at the back of his neck guiding his lips toward the elven king’s. He had not been expecting to be maneuvered so easily when he had decided to firmly plant his feet on the polished stone floor of the throne room the moment the Elder Elf indicated that it was time for them to show every elf and dwarf that their marriage was finally official. 

Nevertheless, the kiss was well founded and sure. The touch of lips against lips was unusual on Thorin’s part and Thranduil’s startling brush of his tongue on his lips made him quietly gasp in bewilderment. As embarrassing as it was to admit, this might be Thorin’s first time to be kissed. He has no idea what the Elven King was trying to do but as soon as he let his mouth open in that short instance of uncertainty, Thranduil had slipped his tongue inside and caressed every part he could touch. Thorin couldn’t find it in him to follow through with the action for it was not in his element to know how to reciprocate in this particular situation. An unpredicted sound akin to a moan came from his throat without permission. It felt like a solid kick in the gut to fathom what their audience must have concluded regarding this slip. 

There had been other surprised reactions from the audience, most definitely coming from Fili and Kili’s side on the seats where his council also sat and Thorin had the impulsive need to stop letting this Elven King show his dominance over him. He was definitely much shorter in height but he was also a King in his own right and there would be no way he’ll be presented as someone lesser than this race of elves. 

He was not panicking nor was he desperate. However, the frantic way he had clutched onto Thranduil’s royal overcoat to push him away made him look as if he was simply trying to hold on tighter. He tried to turn his head but this attempt only became a suggestion to make Thranduil follow his motion. It was devastatingly humiliating to have acted helplessly like that. To add salt to the wound, the Elven Court had applauded for what appeared to be an affectionate display between the two Kings. He pushed on the elf’s chest harder, growling a curse in Khuzdul under the shortening pull of breath. 

Before he could further pound his pride to the ground, it was like a signal by the gods that Thranduil finally released his lips and satisfyingly set him back on the ground. The kiss had only lasted for a minute but it felt like more time had passed on. A swift steadying hand held his waist when he appeared to lose a bit of his footing. Fiery blue orbs sharply held the elf king’s eyes in that instant. 

“You cursed elf! You da—!”

“Uncle!” Kili’s brown eyes pronounced a very dark glare directed at Thranduil. His deep voice cutting through what was supposed to be Thorin’s speech of curses and profanities towards the elf king. If his nephew was unaware of this when he called him, his timing was a great blessing from Mahal for making him stop losing his composure completely when the wedding have all but finished mere seconds ago. It also wouldn’t do good to let his disagreement about this whole charade be known to his kingdom. 

Thorin heaved a huge breath and closed his eyes. Uncertain fingers touched his hand and he almost violently shoved it away.

“I—I’m sorry…” Kili murmured, shocked by the furious reaction of his Uncle. Thorin, in turn, faced him with wide eyes. He had thought it was Thranduil. Enormous regret clouded his expression. 

“No. Forgive me—I thought…I…” His voice cracked.

Catching that tired look from his Uncle’s face, Kili instantly understood why Thorin had responded the way he did. A smile appeared on the youngest Durin’s face.

“I’ll lead you to your seat. Fili and I are seated near you.” He offered and it was only then that Thorin realized Thranduil was already positioned on one of the royal chairs and was already engaged in a conversation with some of his council members.

…

A small hand placed a firm grip on his wrist by the time he was gesturing for a servant for his eleventh mug of what must be an elven wine. The dwarven ale had began giving him odd warmth within his stomach to the point of being a bit uncomfortable that it made him decide to take the lighter taste of red wine. He had taken the liberty of doing so when Thranduil had left his side after finally taking the hint that he’d never speak a word with him like a truly and newly married partner in front of his people. The lightheaded sensation the wine provided him elated his mood along with the elf king’s absence. 

He was leaning his temple heavily on one unsteady palm and turned to face the owner of the hand who interrupted him. There was a small upward twitch of his lips the moment he saw those green orbs concentrating on him.

“I have thought…you’dnever come…” He slurred, eyes glazed with ambiguous focus.

“Thorin. You’ve taken too much ale and wine. Maybe you should stop or slow down a bit.” Bilbo whispered. He had successfully laid down the dwarf king’s palm back on the table. A small shift and he gestured a dwarf for a glass of water. He handed it to Thorin as soon as it was delivered.

“Here. “

Thorin took a subtle sniff on the glass and creased his brows in confusion.

“’Tis not wine.” He almost sounded like whining.

“It’s not but it will help ease some of that buzz from your head.” 

Thorin complied and took more careful gulps when Bilbo held back the whole glass of water he was about to spill all over his robes. The hobbit put it down on the table right after he had consumed all the liquid. He was supplied with a handkerchief to wipe off the excess droplets that damped his short beard. Nodding in thanks, once again he was centered in Bilbo’s focus. The pull of the hobbit’s seriousness in his eyes was strong and he found himself looking back with a passable amount of acknowledgement this time as the cool freshness of water provided him with some clarity in his surroundings. 

“Thorin I just wanted to tell you—“

“I believe it is time for us to retire to our chambers.” Thranduil’s deep tone impeded whatever Bilbo was about to say to the dwarf king. It was not in his intention to interrupt but it didn’t seem to pose as a valid excuse to his untimely return from the way the hobbit scowled at him. Bilbo couldn’t help but huff in annoyance, his reaction deliberately ignored. 

The elf king had been drinking lots of wine himself. He even welcomed the more bitter taste of dwarven ale but it had not been enough to give him the convenient buzz of drunkenness. No strong alcohol has ever really been that potent to affect his senses as how other normal beings would have been pissed about. It was a trait in his elven blood he usually does not take advantage of but tonight was a complicated type of circumstance. One glance at Thorin’s hunched form, flushed cheeks and the radiance of alcohol-heated skin, Thranduil had the sudden impulse to shake him to alertness. Underneath the agitated visage though, long hidden desire rippled through his veins like the blazing fires in Orodruin.

He was a bit surprised when those blue orbs he have compared to the great seas of Aman were now looking at him with a flash of fervor that could not be categorized the same way as he was feeling. 

As unbelievable as it may seem to appear (to the dwarves who witnessed Smaug’s terror and to the Crown Prince’s company), Thranduil can perfectly understand why there was this kind of hatred that grew as a great barrier in his relationship with Thorin. Abandonment during the direst of times was a huge message of betrayal. At that point in their young history, there was really nothing Thranduil could have done to stop the horrific desolation of Smaug. If he had charged his warriors into a futile battle—not much preparation they were able to accomplish on their side—that destruction would have ended three of the great nations in this part of Middle Earth; the Men, the Dwarves, and Elves. Thranduil would never have forgiven himself if the last he would be able to offer Thorin was the annihilation of his own kingdom. He knew he had chosen the right decision back then, no matter how much life had to end for them to finally arrive in this moment. It had not been his choice to make. But from now on, he had sworn it would be. He had fulfilled his bargain with the gods that have blessed their contract and if they shall grant their word of promise to him, everything that has been sacrificed will be worth this hatred he’ll have to endure from Thorin…even if the dwarf king’s love would never be part of it. 

As long as Thorin _**lived**_. 

As long as he stayed by his side till the _end of their days_.

…

“Do not touch me, you filthy elf!” Thorin growled. The walk from the dining hall towards the royal chambers had given him time to ease the cloudiness of his mind. His vision slowly became clearer, enough for him to track his movements correctly while he navigated through the winding corridors. 

He’s had enough of the elf king’s unwelcome existence and his pretentious concern when he stumbled twice over a crooked stone block on the floor. He was a bit proud of himself when he had only waved an arm to ward off Thranduil’s offer of assistance rather than blatantly shoving him until he heard a satisfying sound of muscle and bones hitting the hard wall. It was a violent thought but the dwarf wished he would actually be given the chance to do it anytime soon. 

They have just entered the chambers and Thranduil didn’t hesitate in grabbing his arm to guide him towards the enormous bed. Thorin seethed at this boldness. 

“You do not control me. You do not own me!” He stood up. His anger rising every second the elf king returned his irate words with nothing but a straight expression and blue eyes that showed a different emotion altogether. Profanities and vile insults in Khuzdul freely escaped his mouth and he was surprised when the elf finally found his voice to speak to him after he had stayed silent all throughout their trek to this room. It may be because that now they were alone from the gaging eyes of both their people. Or it would be purely because no audience would be witnessing the true color of the Elf King that he has decided to let go of the mask. 

“You are now mine, Thorin Durin Oropherion. You are married to me. From this day forth, you carry my name before any other titles you have gained. Erebor is no longer yours to rule alone. It was King Thror who had offered you to achieve this solid alliance. The birthright that you claim to have is all but useless without my very existence. If you really are the Durin prince that you insist to be, then—!” 

One wrong turn of the head and Thranduil might have already lost his right eye if he had moved a millisecond later. The glaring sharp tip of the dagger Thorin had lunged directly at his face was able to leave a clean cut slightly above his cheekbone. The dwarf’s assault didn’t end at that point though as another slash diagonally aiming for his bicep resulted to a broad rip on the left arm of his leather armguard extending through the blue robes underneath, just barely sparing his skin and flesh a painful laceration. He could feel the threatening breath of the dagger crawling upon the exposed limb and the tingling danger created goose bumps on his skin. It made him think if removing his mithril armor earlier had been a wrong decision. 

A fist ramming on the side of his torso caught him off guard and the surprise along with the impact caused him to stumble gracelessly against the corner of a table. Various items clattered on the floor and a decent size carafe that contained either ale or wine spilled its blood red liquid, reaching up and staining a ghastly pattern on the spread of fur near the bed.

“I am King Under the Mountain! I’m no longer the prince you have seen just standing by the side of the throne. For the century that my people and I have lived in exile, I have served them more than what a King like you would ever have done. You who lack honor! You could not even take the risk of trying to save my people! You are a coward.” 

The elf king was half standing when Thorin charged forward again and Thranduil was now perfectly prepared to counter it. He seized the dwarf’s wrist before the deadly tip of his weapon reached his jugular. The bruising grip he has on Thorin lightly weakened the strike of his elbow that moved straight to the other side of the elf’s waist. Thranduil accepted the blow and took the opportunity to trap the arm without the dagger between their chests.

“You do not know what you speak of, young one.” Thranduil hissed while they continued to struggle between their strengths. “You have not yet lived long enough to know everything about being a King. I have sacrificed things that you would never even consider imagining. I had to give up people I have treasured more than my own life in this world.” The unexpected shift of emotion in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed as the fury that filled Thorin’s eyes made way for a hint of ambiguity.

“There is only one thing I treasure…that I would never give up. Aside from my kingdom. Aside from my people. Not in any lifetime.”

Thorin pulled a sharp intake of breath in realization. One powerful shove and he has freed himself from Thranduil’s arms. The elf’s hands fell boneless on the floor. Thorin couldn’t understand the change in his demeanor.

“Do not fight me, Thorin. I was never your enemy. I will accept the hatred you found in my faults.” The Elf King moved and knelt on his knee. One fisted hand rested on the ground while the other lay firm on his bent leg. His head was tilted downwards in a half bow—the bow of a High Lord. It was the formal stance that symbolized the ultimate dedication of a King to his consort. A gesture that would show a King’s submission to lay down his life completely without qualms for the person he’s been bound to live with. The torn royal garment did not make him any less regal even in this vulnerable posture. 

“Give me the chance to prove myself to you. _Amin naa tualle_.”

It was no doubt that the King of Mirkwood was sincere when he had spoken these words to Thorin. The dwarf king, however, received it in an entirely different light. Thranduil raised his head only to land upon the look of revulsion the dwarf directed at him. Right then and there, he knew that Thorin would not give himself a chance to reciprocate the elf’s feelings.

“You disgust me. What makes you think that I will accept your affections…yo—your love?” Thorin spat the last word as if the very taste of it was as vile as the dark blood of Smaug. He was now looming over the elf, dagger still held with intention.

“I will not accede to the declarations of the Elf who abandoned my people, who betrayed us without a second thought.”

Thranduil could feel his heart slowly being torn apart—felt like the very muscle of his life source was being sliced deliberately and repeatedly with a blunt knife. Behind all the thoughts and onslaught of insults he was sure he would receive, there had always been that tiny part that contained his hope. The forbidden flaw in his composure was starting to burn out a bigger hole.

“If I knew that I would be bound to you, I would have chosen to die in the hands of Azog.”

And that assertion was a very big mistake.

The last bit of control had instantly taken away Thranduil’s self-possession as soon as those abominable words came out of Thorin’s mouth. He was not aware how he snatched the dagger from the dwarf’s death grip but he heard the loud sound of metal connecting on hardwood. He had slammed the blade so hard on the table that it buried to the hilt and caused the slab to almost break in half. 

Thorin had taken a step back with this show of strength but he didn’t have the opportunity to dodge the strong grasp of the elf king. A burst of white filled his vision the moment he’d been thrown and his head met the carved stone of the bed’s headboard. He vaguely heard a loud knock suddenly rattling the doors of the chamber.

Thranduil had growled towards the intruder and spoke a few elven words to open the door. The one who entered was tall and that little clue had given answer to Thorin that it was an elf who had knocked and not one of his guards. The elf guard sounded calm but his words were hurried, bordering an anxious tone. Thranduil hissed a few Sindarin to him and the elf made a stiff bow before exiting the room. There was the sound of lock clicking back firmly.

Within the haze of the recent impact, he saw that Thranduil had already removed his remaining armor as he approached him. Thorin immediately made a grab at the nearest item he could reach on the bedside counter and threw it. The elf king caught it effortlessly and crushed the glass chalice with his bare hand, totally indifferent of the thick shards that caused blood to trickle down his wrist. Thorin’s eyes widened and fear began to coil in his gut. He scampered off to slide away from the fur cushions but the elf had already seized one his legs. The pull was harsh and unforgiving. His back collided with Thranduil’s hard chest after he has been trapped within the confines of the elf’s arms. He was almost squeezing him that breathing became hard. 

“Take back those words. Tell me that you would not rather be killed by that beast.” Thranduil snarled in his ear. He sounded incensed but at the same time, pleading.

Thorin continued to struggle fruitlessly.

“I would choose the deadly blow of his mace than be with yo—!” The elf king has buried his teeth at the side of Thorin’s neck, drawing blood. His tongue snaked all over the wounded skin and breathed in the expanse of flesh that was not covered with beard. He put his knee heavily on the back of the dwarf, effectively pinning him to the bed.

The ripping sound of silk and the scratchy rattling of chainmail torn out a sound that triggered something in Thorin. He felt the cold breeze of the night coming from the open window touch his newly exposed skin and froze at the impending punishment he was about to experience.

“Do not touch me! I’ll break all the bones in your bod—Ah..!” 

One long finger entered him without caution. The invasion was unwelcome and his body responded violently in the sudden sting. The finger moved with purpose, making him writhe but only causing a foreign burning in his insides. Thorin clutched onto the sheets and held onto them to try and haul himself away from the intruding touch. 

“I saved you from the poison of that mace not to hear you wish you have died from it.” A brutal curve of his finger and the dwarf choked in a pained gasp. He added another finger and Thorin was now clawing on his arm and robes that still clung on his body. He maneuvered him easily onto his back so that he could stare at those blue eyes. Blacks dilated in distress with the inconsiderate twist of his body while fingers remained moving inside him.

“I—I’ll kill you…! I’ll kill you…” The dwarf weakly cursed, followed by words in Khuzdul Thranduil would not spare a single thought to while rage still bubbled up within him. Being aware of how much Thranduil could overpower him was a horrendous torture to Thorin. 

The elf leaned forward and gave a small mercy by slowly withdrawing his fingers. He ripped his own breeches and shifted further down to position himself directly at Thorin’s entrance. The dwarf realized his intention as soon as the blunt tip of Thranduil’s shaft grazed him. The strength of his struggles increased with new vigor as the panic settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

“NO!” —Was the desperate cry that escaped his mouth when the elf king drove into him. The thrust was difficult and dry. The oil that he was supposed to use to ease his way in did not cross his mind by the time his awareness of control totally slipped away. But with the whole of his length already buried deep inside the dwarf, there would be no turning back.

Thorin’s tightness was a pleasant irresistible sensation. The desire Thranduil had been keeping for years and years now came rushing in, releasing mad lust from the very pores of his skin. It was exhilarating—this freedom of emotion, this letting go. He would not have been cruel with his taking but the remorseless words that Thorin had spoken were a great acid to the barriers of his heart. 

He pulled back a little and pushed back in with a force. A rush of warm moisture licked around his length and that small part of him knew that he had ripped something inside the dwarf. He could not let himself stop. This was a lesson. This pain had to be inflicted so that Thorin could understand how being alive truly meant. That with his life almost taken away from the battle, it was granted back to him; every loss, every sacrifice, every success, every challenge, and every emotion—every meaning of it should come to light with the right understanding. The entire existence of an individual never revolved in one single axis. One life will always affect another, no matter how big or small. 

Tears blurred Thranduil’s eyes as he continued to thrust inside Thorin, incoherent sounds coming out of the dwarf the very indication that he was feeling every movement through his body. With every sharp pull of breath and each solid shove pronounced the proof that he was aware of all this. 

“Accept this pain.” A thrust. “Feel it, Thorin. Feel me moving inside you.” A sound above a whisper. “Know that you are alive, _A’maelamin_.” A silent growl, a secret plea.

And the flood of elven endearments spilled from his lips whilst he wept and kissed every inch of Thorin’s skin. His tongue traced the dip of his back. Trembling mouth explored and worshipped the pale thighs, sliding to the sides of the torso, and up to the now bared shoulders as his fingers laced through the silken dark locks to trap them in his grasp. He claimed those open lips to muffle the moan and the embrace of warm breath made him shiver.

“No one will ever touch you intimately the way I caress you… No one will take you away from me or they will die in my hands.” He kissed the sweat-glistened temple tenderly. “You will not leave my side. Not again. Not ever. I will not permit it.”

…

Five times he had let go of his seed inside of Thorin and the flow of tears never stopped. He didn’t know if it was the guilt of taking the dwarf’s last bit of pride by forcing this consummation on him. But there would be not a single ounce of regret; he knew it in his core.

Thorin had fortunately lost consciousness by the end of Thranduil’s fifth release. His muscles began to relax when the throbbing rawness he felt all over his body exhausted the last reserves of his energy. His form gradually turned pliant on the elf’s arms. 

He was no longer aware when the elf’s seed, along with a bit of his blood, trickled down between his bruised legs. He was no longer aware when a clean blanket was draped carefully over his body. He was already succumbed to the dark comfort of sleep when Thranduil had asked for forgiveness. 

Not only for taking him brutally.

Not only for the destruction of Smaug.

But most importantly, for being the sole person in Middle Earth to have taught the Elf King’s heart how love can truly and utterly melt even the hardest of stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hoping that you will still continue to read…wait for the snail-paced updates and such! Comments are fuel to the mind. Thank you! <3
> 
> Translation for Elven/Dwarven words:
> 
> Amin naa tualle = I am your servant
> 
> A'maelamin = My beloved


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time for Thorin’s coronation has finally arrived. Thranduil makes a painful decision. And the most important detail about the contract will be revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this update! This has become a monster chapter. And oh! I have just browsed this once so mistakes are bound to happen. I have no beta so please bare with the grammar. Hehe I hope it's not confusing, but I have chosen to write this update intentionally this "way" because I didn't want yet to reveal some details. 
> 
> Please be mindful of the warnings! [If I have mentioned any before every chapter]  
> …
> 
> Disclaimer: I wish I could build a universe as great as Tolkien’s creation. Still, fan fiction is the next best thing. 
> 
> Pairing: Thranduil [Elven King of Mirkwood] and Thorin 
> 
> Genre: Romance, Angst, and Friendship
> 
> Warnings: Drama, Slash.

Small fortunes were what Thorin have learned to live with when he ruled as the leader of his people while they were in exile. He always dreaded to be at the mercy of men when he, together with some of his own people, was forced to do labor for such meager compensations. Yet these things were all what they had in order to survive and so he treasured every earning from their hard work. As an heir to the throne of the greatest Dwarven Kingdom, he was not used to the life of common folk and was only made aware about them through the limited collection in their library. He found living with these other races were rather a much more informative lesson than that of recorded scrolls with stories of what life to expect outside their kingdom. 

Simple satisfactions such as the warm rays of the sun streaming through the window were one of those things he now appreciated as momentarily, it gave Thorin the pretense of not having to face the day as what it truly was. 

The first thing he noticed was the lack of clothing and only unfamiliar warmth enveloping his body. He didn’t open his eyes yet, trying to gage if he was safe in his surroundings merely by concentrating on the sounds that reached his ears. However, it was the solid presence currently wrapping him and the feel of bare skin that his mind has registered. The panic immediately seized him, tensing his muscles, and his eyes shot wide in barely managed grip for control. He wasn’t able to recognize the moment those arms holding him freeze minutely as well for his body trembled in horror and vicious anticipation.

 

Thranduil almost tightened his embrace on Thorin before remembering how the dwarf would not welcome any of his touches right now. He was aware the smaller man was waking, has instantly felt how his muscles tensed within his arms and the frame of his body shaking. But the Elf King couldn’t stop his action as soon as he caressed the pulsing neck of the dwarf with his lips in an attempt to calm him. There was an unmistakable twitch underneath him and the groan of pain that followed made the elf king snap out of the trance he felt himself going under. He cursed how control could easily slip away from his grasp whenever he was near the dwarf. 

“I’m—“ Thranduil stopped himself before he could utter the word. “Don’t try to move. I’ll carry you to our bathing chambers.” He said instead and winced inwardly as soon as he realized that he used the word _‘our’_.

 

Anxiously pondering about the absence of any response, it took several careful maneuvering and measured handling for the Elf King not to jostle Thorin and accidentally aggravate any of the wounds he himself was the cause. Nevertheless, as soon as he placed his arms underneath Thorin’s neck and the backs of his knees, the dwarf endeavored to move away from his touches, not caring if they ended up as hopeless attempts. Thranduil perfectly understood why he was still trying so hard to do so. Thorin fully has the right to reject his assistance, as he was the very instigator of every bruise, scratch, wound, and pain that currently marred his whole body. It felt appropriately justifiable that the great Elf King could almost feel them as if they were his own—bone-deep scars that would forever haunt him till the end of his breath.

He carried Thorin, forcing the dwarf to stop his struggles as it brought forth painful frictions on sore flesh, and slowly treaded towards the wide expanse of the tub filled with the natural hot spring flowing from the highest peak of the Lonely Mountain. His brows creased momentarily and he allowed himself to look down at the suddenly and strangely silent dwarf king in his arms, Thorin having given up the fight for it was obvious that he couldn’t afford to lose more verve unnecessarily. 

Thorin’s eyes were open. With the occasional moan and gasp of pain coming from between his chapped lips, he still didn’t have the energy to stop the violent and abrupt twitches his body was making. The dwarf king would never admit it but as he was picked up from the bed, the burning came in waves despite Thranduil cautiously walking over the bathing chamber. 

The source of the worst physical ache was throbbing from between his legs towards the tail of his spine, deep within the walls of his insides. He was disgustingly sensitive of the ripped flesh that was still kept slightly damp with his own blood and the sultry fluids released into him by the Elf King. The friction caused by even the smallest of shifting always resulted his body to react in way he couldn’t control. Thorin greatly wished his mind was bordering back to unconsciousness but then the steam coming from the water has began to awaken his senses. There was an unusual aroma lingering through the air and the next second, he made the mistake of meeting with Thranduil’s eyes.

The elf king wasn’t aware that he has stopped at the foot of the stone tub and had been staring down at Thorin with all of his current emotions gracing his face. The mask he has casted upon his own demeanor has long been dropped. He told himself he wouldn’t regret what he did to the dwarf—to his beloved—but now he welcomed the reason beyond the monstrosity that has overcome him last night. It was unquestionably his own doing. It was no one else or any other being taking over his body responsible for all those vile deeds he has marked upon the skin of his Thorin. He could tell it was purely **him**. Maybe regret was not the right word for what kept gnawing at his soul but that he was punishing himself by defiling his own hold for control when he took the dwarf brutally against his will. 

…

Thorin turned away for the sensation of drowning began to engulf him. It was too much. The intensity in which those light blue orbs bore into him weighed heavily on his chest. He couldn’t decipher what lay beyond the scorn the elf king must have been grueling himself with at this moment of rare uncertainty. But a small portion of his mind recognized that Thranduil’s expression only meant one thing. It may not be regret as the elf king has said so himself. It was the failure of fulfilling his life promise to Thorin—to be the one to protect him and not be one of the reasons why the dwarf had to live through a realm of pain, sadness, and war. 

…

Thranduil finally shifted his eyes and dipped one of his bare feet in the water so he could check for himself if the temperature would be acceptable, as he had instructed. Taking into consideration the condition of Thorin’s body, he silently praised the dwarf and elf servants for doing a good job and now Thranduil quickly thought of the most comfortable way he would have to maneuver Thorin in order to lay him down on the tub. He chose to turn around and stepped into the lukewarm water backwards, gradually kneeling with the dwarf still in his arms until both of them were settled on the bottom of the bath. 

The warm water reached up a little over Thorin’s chest just below his chin. Thranduil gently threaded his fingers through the remaining braids of the other man and was pleased to see the concoction he has asked to be put with their bath seem to magically pull tangled strands of black locks, now spreading like a veil over the surface. 

Thorin’s hiss was like a needle pierce on Thranduil’s skin as soon as he has positioned the dwarf’s body over the cradle of his folded legs. He expected this kind of reaction for the main purpose of medicinal herbs mixed with the water was to gently rinse off the dried blood and _his own seed_ still clinging on the open wounds deep inside Thorin. As much as he hated having the dwarf go through with this procedure, however, the raw feeling afterwards was inevitable but clearly important in order to begin the course of healing.

Thranduil mindfully slid his fingers near Thorin’s swollen entrance, testing…waiting patiently. Not surprised by the sharp intake of breath and the violent grasp of blunt nails instantly digging on the right side of his chest and left bicep, he breathed an elven spell in the dwarf’s ear to somehow calm him and dull the pain as much as his spell would allow. The pressure from Thorin’s hold didn’t leave but he now had his eyes closed instead of making the elf king watch those blue eyes shimmer with alarm as he did earlier. Thranduil himself was barely regulating the threat of burning tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He held the dwarf closer to his chest and was relieved when Thorin instinctively accepted the offered comfort.

“Let me Thorin…” He murmured, cradling the dwarf’s head on his shoulder. He didn’t wait for a coherent response and moved his fingers, as gentle as he could, to probe at the sore flesh rapidly tightening and twitching under his touch. The dwarf king’s moans went slightly louder. 

“Shhh…Shhh—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Thranduil pressed his lips on Thorin’s temple, kissing and whispering to him so he could coax the dwarf to cease his futile efforts of squirming away from him. Explaining to him that his movements will result further complications on his wounds if he were to cause Thranduil’s finger to accidentally jab on them. 

The elf king gradually slipped his index into Thorin. Then was almost able to spread his entrance a little for the herbal bath water to clean the inside properly before Thranduil had to once again subdue the dwarf’s wild response to the action. Water splashed out of the tub and the cry that Thorin let out was hoarse, almost pleading. 

“You’ll be fine. I’m not going to do anything. I’m going to heal you.” Thranduil desperately carried on with his calming spells. His deep voice now echoed all over the walls of the bathing chamber as painstakingly slow, the dwarf began to lose the frantic state he was suffering from. His head fell on the elf’s chest in a boneless gesture of reluctant submission. Despite the warm water making Thranduil’s skin look flushed, the dwarf appeared as pale as the marble pillars of their halls. 

“Breathe in.” Thranduil whispered to him. A few moments passed with only Thorin’s pants audible between them. Then he squeezed his eyes shut and gave one small nod. If it weren’t for the elf king observing him closely, this response would have been missed.

Thorin took a shaky breath. What happened next made him whimper helplessly. The sensation of fingers probing inside him could only be painful and utterly uncomfortable with still stinging flesh being exposed too soon. The medicine mixed with the water licked on his wounds and maybe it provided him some relief. But what impeded him from relaxing was the fact that he could feel Thranduil’s deft fingers thoroughly examining his injury. He gasped when the tip grazed what could have been the worst of the wounds and couldn’t help but sink his teeth on the muscle at the side of the elf king’s shoulder to stop from shouting. 

“Thorin. I’m almost done…Relax.” 

When Thranduil was sure that the wounds were rinsed from impurities, he got out of the bath with Thorin barely conscious in his arms. He laid him back down on the bed and had to ignore the dwarf’s protest when he announced having to put salve on each of the cleansed abrasion, including bruises scattered all over his body. It took just a few minutes to apply the concoction with the assistance of soothing elven spells. He cautiously dressed him with the lightest and softest cotton robe, baring the color of his Royal House (which was a silky blood red) before tucking the dwarf in the new blanket he pulled out from the wardrobe. He took a sit next to him on the bed and looked down. 

Thranduil felt the smallest portion of relief lift some weight off his shoulders as he watched Thorin sleep. He expected the dwarf to lash out at him with venomous insults spilling from his mouth, furthermore, to immediately banish him from Erebor as soon as he felt the first indications that Thorin was waking up. The mere thought of what has been done to him last night should have triggered so much anger and fueled more hatred towards the elf king that Thranduil dreaded losing once again the one thing he has just struggled to take back. 

_But was he really able to?_ It was obvious that Thorin has already burned to ashes every pleasant memory they had of each other. And so there wasn’t anything he has gained back, nothing really, aside from physically restoring the dwarf from death nearly consuming his life.

_“If I knew that I would be bound to you, I would have chosen to die in the hands of Azog.”_

The words from last night flashed in his mind, tightening its painful grasp on his chest akin to the feeling of the great serpents’ dangerous thick muscles squeezing the life out of their enemies as a last fatal blow. It echoed in Thranduil’s head like an eerie buzz twisting and gripping his brain. The sight of bottomless darkness that has engulfed his vision at that crucial moment was still clear in his memory—like a poison trying and succeeding to destroy his clutch for sanity. A shiver crawled upon his skin, reaching the line of his spine. The hollow sensations suddenly flooding in his chest made him close his eyes to try to wipe them away.

When he opened them again, he took another glance at Thorin and his face contorted in sadness when he saw the bruises that stood starkly over the dwarf’s pale skin, the white inner clothes not entirely able to cover them. He cursed his own weakness as his powers have dwindled drastically since the time he healed Thorin after the battlefield and there had been no chance to regain much of them for him to at least erase the bruises he has imprinted on the dwarf. He let out a shaky breath. It was no use having second thoughts about what he had to give up in order to save Thorin’s life.

He cleared his thoughts and decided it was time to start the meeting with his council and the dwarves’ regarding Thorin’s coronation. No doubt the dwarves will question the absence of their king. Even so, they would have to begin with the proceedings to start some preparations and prevent any more delays in order to stop the restlessness the people of Erebor was suffering from. And the Elven King of Mirkwood, as Thorin’s husband and the sole head present for the council, will accept all reports and authorize proposals he will see fit for the event.

Thranduil leaned forward to press a kiss over the side of Thorin’s head, breathing in his still slightly damp hair, before carefully leaving the bed. With swift movements, he has changed his own robes to that of his royal garments. He winced at the sight of his crown discarded so carelessly on the ground laid down near to where Thorin’s golden one also sat. The elf king knelt to pick up the dwarf king’s small crown with care and deposited the heavy band on an undamaged table at the other side of the room. 

The sight of his own crown made him crease his brows. The fresh leaves supposedly coiled around every detail have all but fallen on the stone floor, the gem-like fruits only emitting a dull gleam on its facet. His brows furrowed closer, wincing at the fact that it was his fault for the living proof of his kingdom’s wealth to wither like it had just for this past night. And he didn’t want to use his own golden crown that he kept in a box back in his kingdom. The sight of its glistening surface still triggered the memories of Thorin briefly succumbing to the sickness of their Durin line.

Finally, long fingers slowly reached for the wilted crown, caressing them with utmost care one would give to a child. He knew it wouldn’t come alive with just the touch of his hand, the state of the Mirkwood crest strongly reflecting his own emotions in perfect symmetry. He took a silk scarf draped over a kerchief rack and wrapped the crown with the soft material before placing it inside his new wardrobe adjacent to the dwarf king’s.

One last glance at the sleeping figure on the bed, a silent click of the door closing, Thranduil was now on his way to the King’s Hall. 

 

…

The elven council regarded their King with silent respect as he entered the hall to approach one of the royal seats at the head of the table. On the other hand, the dwarves were confused with the absence of their King by Thranduil’s side. The Elf King swept his eyes over every member of the assembly and immediately noticed that Thorin have retained his Company [except Dwalin being the King’s personal guard] as his council with only the addition of an elder dwarf that have possibly originally served Lord Dain of the Iron Hills. He gave a small nod towards the dwarves then gestured for everyone to take their own seats.

A piercing look boring into his skin urged him to turn to the Halfling sitting between Balin and Fili. Emerald orbs unflinchingly accepted his gaze head on and Bilbo raised his chin a bit higher as if daring him to willingly speak an explanation of Thorin’s nonattendance. He was amused by this show of boldness that he obliged the unspoken query. 

“King Thorin wouldn’t be able to join us. He is indisposed at the moment due to last night’s events.” He was relieved his voice didn’t falter when the flash of what he did in the consummation of their marriage appeared for a millisecond in his mind. His head began to throb. It confused him that such a menial concern would affect him so suddenly. He didn’t show it. However, the change in Bilbo’s demeanor clued him that the halfling must have noticed.

“Let us begin.” He said shortly.

Only then did Bilbo lean back on his seat with a curious expression on his face.

 

…

 

What should take months of preparations, only four valuable days of meetings and arrangements have been taken by Thranduil and Thorin’s council in order to complete the outline of the Coronation. The four days have gone and the official crowning of Thorin II Durin-Oropherion, the King Under the Mountain, will finally be held at the grand halls of the King’s Court. Regardless of the Durin Heir’s absence during the discussions, in which the Dwarven Council grudgingly kept from enquiring about, Thranduil has taken it upon himself to lead all the appropriate engagements concurring to his own judgment. He has appointed Balin, being the Chief Advisor, to take the role of the Elder Dwarf that will be responsible for reading the Dwarven Laws in par with announcing the power casted upon the Sovereign as Thorin spoke the Oaths of his kingship.

 

“Thorin.” Thranduil broke the silence that has been brewing for the past several days between him and the dwarf.

Ever since the morning came after the night of their marriage, Thorin has uncharacteristically chosen to withdraw instead of resorting to lash out his hatred over what Thranduil has forced on him. It has confused the elf king to no end, but eventually realized how this has affected him more than he could ever admit. He did deserve this. This treatment of hollow submission coming from Thorin was more like a torture. It pained him to accede the fact that the dwarf’s willing acceptance he was longing to have will all but fall into shattered sparks of hope. And who else was to blame?

“Thorin.” Thranduil patiently repeated until Thorin made the smallest movement, permitting him to turn his head to a convenient angle for his braiding. Long, pale fingers caressed through the silky raven locks and began combing then dividing the strands, weaving each of them with practiced ease to form the braiding patterns the dwarf named Ori, has taught him for this event.

He could feel the tensed stillness Thorin kept to himself in taciturnity. There was a bit of muscle twitches here and there, barely noticeable except from Thranduil’s keen alertness, that gave the indication how the dwarf was really coping up with this position he has been reduced to. The elf was very much aware how dwarves were prideful creatures, living in the prime of their skills and strength. They were not a race to easily bow down to powerful conquerors. But they were also the kind of people who would do everything for the sake of their kin. So what Thorin must be trying to do was for the peace and welfare of Erebor as their leader—as their King. 

Done with the braiding, Thranduil reached for the golden hair clasps with the Durin Emblem engraved on it. He placed it around the two largest braids lying like intricate ropes on each side of the dwarf king’s ears. He paused for a moment to appreciate them and thought that this jewelry must have undergone from the hands of someone with such attention to detail and no small amount of patience as proven by the design and quality of work. 

He stopped from almost pulling away. It made him suddenly feel embarrassed to open the box containing the four other beads he has made himself (to be followed accordingly to fulfill the Dwarven Tradition) as the husband of Thorin. He was annoyingly aware how he was considered an amateur when it came to the arts of jewelry making or smiting. However, the reluctance was shadowed when he remembered his past wife’s reassuring words that she saw him as a man known to create valuable and unique crafts when he knew for certain to whom he would offer his dedication of making it. The brief thought comforted him and he took the beads where they laid from the velvet bedding. These clasps presented the significance of symbolizing Thorin as the one who carried Thranduil Oropherion’s name and title, giving him the very right of gaining the third highest power in the Elf King’s Royal House.

Now, as the last of the dark blue robes embraced over the many layers of Thorin’s royal ensemble, Thranduil met Thorin’s eyes through the reflection of the mirror. To his surprise, the dwarf was looking back at him and the elf king realized how much this image of radiant regality very much suited his Consort. He was the first one to avert from the connection, feeling how his grasp for control has extremely been run down by this valiant being gifted to him by the _Eru_. 

He took a step back to give Thorin the space to move, offering an open palm as an invitation for the dwarf to take his hand with the intention to give him a choice whether he’d like to or not. His hand almost wavered by the wide palm that covered it and Thranduil no longer denied the surprise when he faced Thorin again. They stared at each other, both maybe contemplating who would move first or speak something to break the tension. But the lingering awkwardness was thankfully cut short by a dwarf attendant knocking on the doors to remind them of the hour. No more coaxing was needed and so they sauntered out of the room towards the King’s Halls with the grace of a leader and the confidence of men entitled with their royal heritage. 

 

…

 

Thranduil gently set down the golden crown upon Thorin’s head whilst the final words coming from Balin announced the Durin dwarf as Ruler of Erebor and King Under the Mountain in Khuzdul, translating it then in the common tongue. The following applause that occurred created a deafening chorus, reverberating around every corner of stonewalls and extending towards the civilians attending the coronation outside the palace. For a long moment that Thorin stood at the platform of his throne, the unusual feeling of the crown’s weight digging onto the tops of his braids and each side of his temple, his gaze traveled along the mass of dwarves, elves, and men that served as witnesses to this grand celebration. He acknowledged them, made a bow of his head in respect, and bit his lower lips to encourage himself to smile. It was a hard task he had to admit. Now that he has reclaimed his home, that he has been crowned King, his emotional acceptance about this fact was somehow a dull recognition of his right to rule. He couldn’t feel the satisfaction of finally having the solid substantiation of his kingship. He couldn’t feel a thing… 

_Not when he was now sitting on the new throne one of his best craftsmen has built from Thror’s._

_Not when his people did not have the knowledge that his own grandfather offered his freedom to the Elf King so that he could have legal claim to the throne._

_Not even when his heirs and his Company and Bilbo looked at him as if he was the sole dwarf who deserved to be their leader and were all proud to call him their King._

And yet the second an arm found its way around his shoulders, dreadfully familiar as it belonged to the great Elf he has been married to, the sudden trembling of his body ferociously wracked his frame and he almost doubled over from the nausea that gripped his brain. 

Thranduil took notice as soon as he touched Thorin. Fear instantly pierced through him like a mace, choked his breath away, freezing the elf’s body in position at the side of the throne instead of withdrawing and Balin was the one to rescue both Kings from fainting on each other. The Elf looked at the Elder Dwarf, Balin’s eyes widening from Thranduil’s expression, before having the sense to order Thorin’s nephews to help their Uncle back to his room without making too much fuss. A brief eye contact was all it took and the Durin heirs subtly supported the King’s body and steered him out of the Halls. Bilbo’s unexpected presence at Balin’s side surprised the old dwarf but he welcomed his assistance in hauling away the Elf King, going through the other side of the hall so they wouldn’t have to go the same way where Thorin was led by Fili and Kili. 

The celebration continued and only the echoes of cheers trailed through the corridors in which the two kings were escorted to retire.

 

…

 

“I shall return to Mirkwood at first light.” Thranduil spoke as soon as the door of the chamber he was brought to was closed. 

Light footsteps approached Balin, whispers were exchanged, and the Elder dwarf made his way to exit the room, too much at a loss to inquire was has suddenly happened between the two kings. 

“I shall have to ask why.” Bilbo said with an air much bigger than his own size. There was not a single indication that he felt intimidated despite the glare Thranduil gave him for questioning a King so carelessly. 

“You are only a temporary member of Thorin’s council. You do not hold any right to ask me ‘ _ **why?**_ ’ Halfling.”

“Tsk..tsk…tsk…No…” Bilbo was waving his head, and if pointing a finger to an Elven King was downright rude, he didn’t care. 

“I should say, Thorin didn’t have to marry You—“ He raised his pointed finger higher to the level of the elf’s chest. “—so that he could have the throne that was already his birthright!” 

“But that is no longer the point now, is it? He’s already been married to you, as much as I hate the idea to accept it. And now I’ll repeat my earlier question. Oh wait, let me rephrase that. I **demand** to know the reason why you are suddenly going back to your forest.”

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at this boldness. If it were anyone else to have spoken to him this way, even to just raise an unsuspecting finger towards him, that particular person would have already found himself with a sword lodged in his throat and a whole arm cleaned off his shoulder. But this was the halfling who has basically betrayed Thorin to impede a reckless declaration of war. This particular hobbit named Bilbo was one of those people who saved Thorin from completely succumbing to the dragon sickness.

“I have responsibilities that need my immediate presence back in Mirkwood as I am **their King** , if you must know.” Thranduil hissed. 

“Oh wow! That is new. As if these past few days your presence in your kingdom wouldn’t **always** be needed like it is suddenly now! You gave as much time required for your marriage with Thorin. And now that his coronation has just barely been announced to the whole of Erebor, you’re going to run away!” 

“Who said I was running away. Watch your words hobbit. You have never seen what I am capable of.” Thranduil’s growl didn’t faze Bilbo and the halfling’s face warped into an expression that he has somehow gained some knowledge about the Elf King simply with these vague insinuations.

“What have you done to Thorin?” The change in subject was very abrupt. Bilbo has spoken as monotonously as he could. Although to be honest, he was raging in anger inside even when he didn’t know yet the reasons behind it. But ever since the dwarf king hasn’t showed up in the past meetings for his _**own**_ coronation, something had been gnawing at Bilbo’s mind. He can tell something wasn’t right.

“What are you trying to say?” By the way it took moments for Thranduil to somehow give a response, the halfling could feel something cold blanch every part of his skin, making him look as if all the blood had been drained out of him. There were some thoughts he never wanted to think of nor associate with what the Elf King was really capable of. Nevertheless, he could not get off his mind what he saw when he visited Thorin yesterday afternoon.

“You tell me now…or I swear—!” The hobbit has not had any opportunity to use his voice like that of a wild beast, growling and threatening. The harsh tone scratched the delicate lining of his throat. His nails were always trimmed yet they dug deeply into his palms with his growing trepidation. He raised his head and looked into the elf’s eyes. The other’s silence lodged thickly in his chest. Gradually, the crease of his brows intensified and he let out a wail of horror from the faltering glint in Thranduil’s gaze. 

“Why…?” Bilbo croaked.

He was asking because he could tell what that look implied.

He wanted to know for he saw how the dwarf king has tried to hide and shy away from his people, his own family and friends for those past few days he didn’t show up at the council.

He needed to know why because Thorin didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve _**it**_.

What happened next, he didn’t see coming…

 

…

 

Thranduil collapsed on the floor, vehement tremors painfully making all the hairs on his skin rise and freezing his spine like a rigid sphere stuck across his back. His eyes were red. Tears ferociously streamed down his face, to his neck, staining his royal robes and sliding over his twitching hands seeming to desperately grasp at something. His crown had fallen on the ground, disregarded like a cheap ring of metal that skidded far away from its possessor. His form was now curled up, contorting dangerously further and he almost looked like an abandoned child left and forgotten out in a blizzard of snow.

“I can’t…” Thranduil murmured, complexly switching between Sindarin and the common tongue. “Don’t let me—please…I have to go…co—control…might not be able to…” The Elf King now had his fingers gripping silver blonde locks, seeming to pull them out of their roots in frantic despair. He carried on in desperate whispers. 

“Have to go…Can’t—can’t look at him…Can’t to—touch him…” A loud sob unexpectedly came out and the elf could no longer stop the onslaught of incoherent words spilling from his pale lips. His nails now scratched at his face and throughout the subconscious chaos happening within his head, his glamour faded and came—faded and came.

The hobbit was in shock. In his brief experience with elves, he has never seen any of them break down in this kind of state. The least he ever expected to witness was Thranduil helplessly losing his grip on sanity. And in spite of the rage, of what has been done to Thorin, the disappointment, the accusations ready to tumble from his mouth, Bilbo chose to grab those strong arms determined to destroy its owner’s face. He stepped back and gasped in surprise when he saw one eye of the elf turn white whilst half of his face melted into a horrifying scar. But it took him only a few moments to gather his wits back and attempt to return some sense to Thranduil’s consciousness.

“Thranduil!” He shouted and tried his best to pry sturdy fingers away from the scar that appeared and went, all the while as tears fell continuously from those blue orbs.

“Stop! Stop this!” 

Bilbo then realized, as he stared in dismay at Thranduil’s state, the Elf King’s regret has started to eat away the core of his soul. 

It was a horrifying sight—the very image of loss and pain. 

 

…

 

It took a lot of effort before Bilbo had somehow calmed Thranduil from destroying his own face and mutilating his body. His energy was dwindling, combined with the stress of worrying about how Thorin was doing now in the chamber where his nephews might have brought him, for he had an inkling they wouldn’t choose the royal quarters. 

Earlier, Balin had briefly gone back into the chamber but the hobbit immediately waved him away in case the elder dwarf’s presence triggered the elf to repeat what happened mere minutes ago. Balin hesitated a few times and with a cautionary glare at Bilbo, he left and quietly shut the door.

Bilbo sat close to Thranduil. The Elf King has stopped but the evidence of what he did to himself appeared on his skin as angry red marks he wasn’t making an effort to conceal with whatever spell he could conjure to do so. He was heaving each breath deeply—making it a difficult task to see him gathering oxygen as if he was inhaling poison instead, with the harsh sounds of choking reverberating from his chest every single time he did.

 

“I love him.” 

If Bilbo weren’t keenly paying attention to the Elf King’s condition, he wouldn’t hear him speaking as low and as deep for his voice drifted along with the breeze that came from the vents of the stone windows. The three words traveled to his ears as clear as the sky in blessed springtime in the Shire. 

Now today had been a day filled with tremendous revelations and what was supposed to be a peaceful and grand fête for Thorin’s long-awaited coronation. Still, Bilbo had stood straight the moment his heart felt the weight in Thranduil’s words. He couldn’t tell how he was able to gage the meaning of the king’s declaration, but the intensity in which he has admitted this to him, the tingling sensation that crept all over his bones gave proof to how little he understood the Elf King for who he truly was. Only these raw emotions evidently marked in Thranduil’s façade has given Bilbo this light. 

“Then why—?” 

“For more than a _**century**_ , I have waited patiently.” The elf cut in, fingers bordering on finding something to grip onto. “And there was this feeling of vacuity I have endured…that despite my life extending for hundreds of years, I could not stop the agony it brought me.” He looked at Bilbo straight in the eye and the hobbit felt like he was struck—that with those blue orbs holding his gaze, he could almost feel what Thranduil must have felt for all those years he struggled to live—alone and misunderstood. 

“I told Thorin I would not regret what I did to him,” His voice became louder. “—Everything that I did _**for him**_ … Because I wanted him to understand why all those lives had to be sacrificed. He thought I have abandoned him when Smaug came. And I did. I did because I **had** to. I had to even if the consequence was for Thorin to garner this hatred towards me…towards my people!” His eyes have begun to form tears again. This time though, the elf was aware enough to try to control them. 

“You think I didn’t mourn the loss of his kingdom? Every single one of you never understood. Did Thorin even tell you that he himself have accepted me as his future husband long before Erebor has faced Smaug?”

The widening of emerald eyes was only Bilbo’s response. 

“He was happy with me. He was mine. It was me he has opened his heart to—“ Thranduil stopped for the thickness in his voice made it difficult to breathe. His hands grabbed his head in a grip, dark brows meeting, and warm wetness clinging on eyelashes. 

“I forced him. Because I couldn’t take it… Because I couldn’t get through his head to accept this inevitable fate! Because he told me he would choose to die in Azog’s hands rather than be with me!” 

Bilbo gasped on this and the rage that came this time was dull in comparison to the intensity of the sympathy that unwillingly came with Thranduil’s admission. 

“Now I lost him. I know he would no longer give me the chance to redeem myself to him. And if you are thinking what could be the greatest punishment for what I did, I’ve already given it to myself.”

A long pause loomed between the two of them.

 

“I know of your feelings towards Thorin.”

The hobbit’s head snapped upward. The defiant look came with Bilbo’s concealed surprise for being found out.

“What of it?”

“If I ask you a favor, would you grant it?”

“I’ll hear you out.” Was Bilbo’s careful reply. 

“Take care of Thorin.” 

The urge to scream his agreement about the request and tell off the elf that he didn’t even need to ask of that was strong but he held his tongue, as Thranduil appeared that he was going to tell more.

“And listen to what I have to say.” 

The hobbit was becoming impatient. 

“Yes…yes, I—“ Bilbo looked at the elf and let out a defeated sigh. “I will listen.” He said, tone serious, anxious to know what would be Thranduil’s next words. 

“I will tell you everything that I had to do in order to fulfill the contract.” 

So Bilbo listened. It was hard not to. And every once in a while he had to close his eyes and inhale as much air as he can for the things that poured out of Thranduil’s lips brought forth every kind of emotion simply from the elven king’s words sequentially conjured within him.

 

The conversation with the Elf King has made Bilbo dizzy with so many details to process in his mind. And the different significances it presented to every event that has happened were too overwhelming the hobbit could not tell how he was supposed to really feel, now he has knowledge of Thranduil’s side of the story. Nonetheless, no weight has been lifted from this awareness. The misconception of dwarves, Thorin and the Company in particular, about everything was massive, there was no certainty if there ever will be a chance to redeem what once was a truly peaceful relationship between the two great races. Thoughts clouding his head, he barely met the weary acknowledgement Thranduil passed onto him before he went to exit the room. That regard was more than enough to vanquish the doubt and antagonism he have felt for the things the elf king had to accomplish for the welfare of everyone he held dear in his heart.

His words continued to whisper in Bilbo’s ears. 

 

_“I have endured for more than a century.”_

_“I had to abandon him. Smaug was a sign…”_

_“The dragon was the sign from the gods to change what fate was originally written for Thorin.”_

_“I have given up my soul in exchange for his life.”_

_“I have lost him.”_

_“I love him. And that love is my curse for eternity…”_

These pain-filled words echoed in Bilbo’s mind. 

He didn’t know what to do with them.

The sole thing he can be sure of was that he would try his best to fulfill the elf king’s wish.

And he desperately prayed, that he could possibly make things right regardless if that will be the cause for Thorin to banish him from his kingdom a second time.

 

…

 

“Has he fallen asleep?” The question came out of nowhere, ostensibly so startling, that the Durin princes had to scramble back to a dignified stance when they all but fell from their seats at the recognition of the voice’s owner.

“A—Amad!” Both Fili and Kili stood frozen on their positions at each side of Thorin’s bed. Then when a slow smile graced their mother’s lips, the surprise dissipated and they welcomed the pleasant sensation of having Dis within their arms as the dwarrowdam silently made her way towards her sons. 

“Mother! We weren’t expecting you.” Fili whispered but the smile of relief and longing never left his lips.

“We thought it would take you few more weeks to arrive.” Kili said and barely dodged the smack Dis aimed on his head.

“What? You don’t want to see your mother yet? Were you expecting I’ll be gone longer so that you could spread mischief in our newly reclaimed home?” Dis patted Kili’s cheek in the familiar gesture the youngest heir was used to. The female dwarf looked at both of his sons and gathered them in her embrace, giving each of the princes an affectionate tap on their foreheads. Her expression turned into one of worry as she glanced over her sons’ shoulders to glimpse at the face of her brother.

“Now, as much as I want to chat with you boys, I’ll request for you to leave me alone with my brother.” 

The Durin heirs exchanged looks and left one last apprehensive glance at their Uncle’s sleeping form before taking their exit from the room. Once the door clicked close, Dis’ eyes immediately landed on Thorin. She noticed the crease on her brother’s brows and knew it indicated that something had gone terribly wrong with the king, if it meant to follow him even in his dreams. 

Thorin’s body trembled in complicated intervals. Not a drop of sweat shined on his skin but once Dis cautiously laid her palm over her brother’s hand, she was bewildered to find it cold. She placed her other hand on her brother’s cheek and raised his hand to gently kiss on each of his knuckles in an attempt to comfort the king to whatever dream that was making his skin as chilled as a neglected anvil. The movement caused the royal robe to slide from the top of Thorin’s hand down to the fold of his elbow. Dis’ attention was instantly caught by what she saw. A gasp escaped her lips and she carefully held her brother’s arm to move the silken fabric further and reveal more of his skin.

Various colors of fading bruises decorated Thorin’s arm. One look and Dis could instantly identify that they were not from some kind of fighting practices. These were marks of restraint, of finger and handprints. For a moment the Durin princess was confused and then the thought dawned on her who might possibly have the strength to have done this to her brother. Darkness clawed on her vision. She knew she was breathing hard. The strong impulse to find the wretched Elf King right then and there, made her almost shot out of the room in search of Thranduil. What barely hindered her from doing so was the weak groan that came out of Thorin’s lips. 

Tired blue eyes blinked at her for a few moments before recognition emerged on the King’s face. Then it took him a second to notice how exposed his arm was when a light breeze made the hairs on his skin rise. Thorin hastily yanked down his sleeves and stared at Dis in horror. 

“Does anyone else know?” The Durin princess asked through gritted teeth.

The king’s response was to fall his gaze on his hands he had unconsciously began twisting over the furs that blanketed his lap. It was a subtle way to hide the trembles that always made their appearance whenever his eyes land upon his skin and the memories they projected. He endlessly cursed his weakness because of how they can affect him so easily. 

The king heard the shifting of heavy clothing and instantly shot out his hand to grab onto his sister’s overcoat. It gave light to the fact that Dis must have arrived today while he was out cold, trapped in the nightmare that has been haunting him for days. 

“Don’t.” He almost sounded like he was pleading but he also didn’t feel apologetic for himself in doing so. He can plead… Because it was his sister—his beloved sister who have just arrived and went straight to him despite her being the one who must be feeling very tired from travelling. This was Dis, who never turned back on her responsibilities as her people’s princess despite the loss that came to her—of losing their home, their grandfather, their brother, their father, and then her husband. Thorin could only admire her so for being a strong anchor that reinforced strength back in their hopes to reclaim Erebor.

“I will not tolerate this! You have suffered so much for everything! I can’t just…I can’t—!”

Still, Thorin pleaded. It reflected in the blue of his eyes, in the trembling of his lips.

“Don’t.” He repeated. “It’s not…It’s— _Please_ …!” He whispered, having a difficult time endeavoring to give some kind of an explanation—something to placate his younger sister. Eventually he chose to close his eyes and gradually leaned some of his weight on the strong arms that now surrounded him in a tight embrace.

“You don’t have to hide anything from me. Just please, I have to know. Why?” Dis tried so hard to make her voice as gentle as she could. The rage still burned inside her and all she can think about was piercing the Elf King’s chest with a sword dipped in Orc poison.

“Don’t make me say it… It’s not—Just please don’t make me… Don’t make me…” This trail of words dampened a bit of Dis’ fury and gave way to a memory she never wanted to remember again. She welcomed a reluctant acceptance of this request from Thorin and struggled to banish the recollection that unpredictably visited her mind. 

“Yes. Yes, Thorin.” She nodded, conceding for now and sighed in relief when she felt her brother starting to relax in her arms. 

“If you don’t want to tell me now…then it’s fine. But are you going to be alright while he is still here? Because I swear to Mahal, I will cut his throat the moment he—“ She couldn’t finish what she meant to say. Her teeth have clamped down so hard on her bottom lip she was sure the rusty taste on the tip of her tongue was her blood.

“I—I will handle it.” Thorin cleared his throat and swallowed. It embarrassed him to no end that he was being this weak. He has just been officially crowned King and now that he holds equal power to Thranduil, he will let himself be reduced like this? That should be impossible as the heir to Durin’s line. But here he was, cringing away from the realization Thranduil has brought to his mind. To erase those crucial thoughts from once again invading his mind, he properly raised his head to look at his sister. This time, a smile came easily on his face. 

“Welcome home, Dis.” He said.

And it was more than enough to effectively make Dis forget her rage towards his husband momentarily and make tears fall warmly on her cheeks. 

“Yes. Yes, I’m home. We’re all together now.” She sobbed, hugging the king again and buried her nose in the crook of Thorin’s neck to breathe him in—to breathe the smell of family and home again.

 

…

 

The announcement that came in the middle of the night, any light from the dawn that was to follow still absent from the obscurity of dark purple clouds, have roused the imperial guards and both Councils of the two Royalties to gather by the gates of Erebor. The Elf King’s great Elk was already saddled and stood tall amongst the line of elven warriors waiting for their king. Thranduil didn’t mean to cause such a hassle with his immediate departure from Erebor but as the husband of Thorin and as a great sovereign as well, it was truly impossible to have left the kingdom easily. Bilbo and Balin were already escorting him and that would have been enough trouble he could afford to give them. Yet the rustle of armed dwarven soldiers vibrating on the ground convinced him to stop midway in his footsteps. 

“He’s here.” Bilbo whispered at his side.

It was a surprise to him that after he has given his side of the story to the hobbit, he seemed to have gained a bit of Bilbo’s respect and understanding. The Chief Advisor Balin, on the other hand, was too noble that he made no questions whatsoever about what might have occurred in his conversation with the halfling. Receiving one meaningful look though gave him the sign that Balin knew this was bound to happen. It was just too soon and the elder dwarf was apprehensive for what change this decision from Thranduil could instigate in the newly fostered amity in their kingdom. 

 

Thranduil turned around and faced the royal family standing a few meters from him. He gave a look of familiarity towards the dwarf king’s sister despite the cold glare those blue eyes projected amidst the shadows casted upon them by the towering brick walls. He could understand so well that kind of gaze. He knew it so well by now that the pain it always brought have started to reduce and numb him instead. The two Durin princes stood protectively at each side of their Uncle. And the fierce expression they wore elated Thranduil because the anxiousness that has befallen him for leaving Thorin—for good, if he so wishes—was lifted, knowing the king has loyalty all within his grasp and he would be kept safe. Of course there will be no doubt Thranduil will protect him…but in the distance. 

The Elf King decided not to utter a word. He would not make any speeches for his departure. He will not speak of his true purpose for leaving, as it was a responsibility to keep up appearances for _their_ people. 

Then his eyes landed on Thorin.

The dwarf king hasn’t spoken a single word despite the commotion that has obligated him to leave his chambers. No surprise moved his blank expression but the connection Thranduil can feel deep within his veins has provided what Thorin was truly feeling. 

There was anxiety, ambiguity, and confusion…

Thranduil strode towards his beloved and knelt down to his level as soon as he was in front of him. He was hesitant to move his hands but they have already moved on their own accord and before he could prevent them, his palms have found their way on each of Thorin’s cheeks. Thranduil leaned forward as if magnetized to the presence of the Durin king and he made no effort to stop himself.

He kissed him.

It was brief but it was deep—filled with emotions he so dearly wished he could channel through their spiritual connection.

He whispered against those trembling lips,

“I plead you to ask me to return…and I will come back. I will come back for you.”

Thranduil stood up in time to give Dis a moment to slide back her sword in its sheath. He had also been aware of the fisted hands hidden behind the backs of Fili and Kili in a small attempt to hide what they might have done if Thorin so much as twitches away from the Elf King’s touch.

“My warmest regards to you, Princess Dis.” He said and only received a straight expression for his trouble.

 

It was hard for him to turn away, not when he already longed to caress Thorin again. He could only imprint his face deep into his memory before Bilbo gently tugged on his wrist to usher him towards his royal guards. The leads of his Elk were handed to him and he hauled himself up to sit over the saddle.

When Thranduil made his way to exit the gates, he did not turn back.

 

…

 

They noticed Thorin’s lack of appetite two weeks after Thranduil’s departure. The King has been dutifully attending all of his meetings for the past days, not missing one of them, making sure not to be late, and even sparing some time to at least join his family and Company to dinner. And maybe that decision had been a mistake. The King did arrive at the Royal Dining Hall everyday but he scarcely touched any food lavishly spread out on the long table, choosing to drink tea instead to fill up his stomach. It was Dis who was the first one to voice her concern but Thorin merely shrugged the matter off, passing it as something trivial and not to be worried about. That he already ate some snacks during his meetings so he wasn’t feeling really hungry. 

Now as they were once again all gathered for supper, Dis and Bilbo, who has grown close for the past weeks, decided to make it their task to make sure the King will find the appetite to eat properly this time. The hobbit and the dwarrow princess smiled at each other when Bombur carted in a rather enormous covered platter. Fili and Kili have straightened up on their seats as a whiff of whatever was inside the plate reached them and the others also started to notice. 

“Are we celebrating something for the night?” Bofur asked excitedly the moment Bombur laid down the covered food carefully on the table. 

“Well, it was a challenging hunt but we made it!” Dwalin answered proudly, grinning from ear to ear. 

With all the excitement going on, other servants accomplishing to serve side dishes and other smaller meals, Bilbo managed to toss Dis a look gesturing for her to turn to her brother. The King was smiling as well, influenced by the enthusiasm of his Company. It warmed Dis’ heart when she saw this for it became rare for Thorin to give out his smiles so easily. 

Bombur then proudly served the game trophy, opening the dome lid to reveal a huge slab of meat slow-roasted to perfection, and drizzled with rich herbs Bilbo has grown himself in the garden that Thorin had gifted him. Everyone was ecstatic, as it definitely looked mouth-watering. Dwalin stood up and offered to make the first slice for their King. But before he could place the food on Thorin’s plate, the King already has his hand raised to stop him.

“No!” He said quite loud, a look of something akin to distress marring his face and his hand shot out to cover his nose and mouth in a slightly tight grip. 

His eyes landed on the sauce of the meat dripping down his plate as it hanged on the fork and knife Dwalin held it with. He paled. The sight made him instantly dizzy. The smell…the smell was awful and he pushed off of his seat, slipping away in a hurry to exit the Hall. 

Everyone, on the other hand, was frozen in shock and bewilderment. 

“What? What happened?” The warrior dwarf asked in alarm, still awkwardly holding the meat, before placing it on the abandoned dish of their King.

Kili stood up from his chair and reached out the middle of the table to smell Bombur’s entrée. 

“Oh this smells amazing!” He cleared his throat when his mother glared at him from almost leaning on the meat. “I mean it smells really good. Why would Uncle react that way?”

“Is the meat not fully cooked through?” Fili inquired. “But no…Thorin has no problem eating meat even if it’s a bit rare.” 

Bilbo was the one who stood up this time. 

“I’ll check on him.”

Another screech of a chair being moved and Dis was now walking beside him. 

“This is very unusual.” She mused as they went through the corridors towards the path of the King’s chambers. “My brother doesn’t get sick like this. He may not eat the same amount like the others but he makes sure he does eat enough.”

“It wouldn’t be good if this goes on.” Bilbo murmured.

He knocked on the doors and then stepped aside to give Dis the space so she could open them. Thorin was not in his bed as they were expecting. They looked for him in his study, in his receiving room, and even checked Thranduil’s quarters in the adjoining room. When they heard a series of groans coming from the bathing chamber, Dis and Bilbo ran to find Thorin panting on the floor, forehead resting on the rim of the sink. 

“Thorin!” Dis quickly knelt down to assist her brother. Bilbo was there the next second and held the curtain of black hair away from the King’s face when his body involuntary heaved again to release what fluids he was able to digest earlier. A few more of the painful lurches passed before Dis deemed it safe to guide Thorin over his bed. As soon as the King felt the furs through his robes, he curled up and clutched at his belly. Dis wiped the sweat on her brother’s face with the hem of her sleeves while Bilbo prepared a warm wet cloth to ease the coldness that seemed to engulf the King’s body.

Thorin muffled his groan by biting the cover of his pillow. He ignored Dis’ coaxing that he let go of the cushion for he might hurt himself and chose to further press down his hands over his stomach in an attempt to ease the ache.

“Thorin! Thorin, brother…Please! Tell me what’s happening!” Dis panicked, throwing looks of horror at Bilbo’s direction.

The hobbit was alarmed as well. He couldn’t tell what was wrong with the dwarf king. And whatever was happening, this development was too sudden.

“I don’t know what is wrong with him Bilbo…” Dis sounded pleading; that as if by talking with him, the hobbit would be able to identify what was ailing Thorin.

“I will call the healers.” He offered and ran out the door to call for Oin and his assistants. 

Minutes later, they came in and did their work. 

In the end, they couldn’t identify what illness their King might have caught. No current viruses were reported since the reclaiming of Erebor and nothing in the newly renovated City of Dale as well. The fact that they even learned from the other advisors that Thorin hadn’t been actually eating during meetings for the past days wasn’t even reason enough to make him fall in this state. 

What finally helped Thorin succumb to unconsciousness was Oin’s sleeping potion, considering for now any concoctions for pain would be a risk in the King’s health. 

…

For the next few days, Thorin would somehow be able to wake up with a dizziness that made him want to burry himself under his furs. Every night that came, the excruciating soreness in his guts grew beyond his tolerance. It felt like his very organs were literally being wringed to the point of snapping. Sometimes this process would calm down and then when it would begin again, another bout of screams will escape the King’s lips. 

Every member of the Council, Dis, the princes, Bilbo, and even the Imperial guards paled each time they hear Thorin screaming. The King has been transferred from the Royal Chambers to a private healing room so that Oin and his assistants could maximize the use of whatever equipment they have to apply the necessary treatments.

The old healer exited the room and was met with the same anxious looks from the other dwarves. 

“We have tried every medicine. They don’t seem to alleviate the pain. The only thing that is somehow working is the sleeping potion. And even that does little for Thorin to regain his energy.” He explained.

In the middle of his conversation with Balin and Dis, one guard announced the presence of a wizard by their gates. 

“It must be Gandalf!” Bilbo mumbled, eyes widening, before bolting out to meet the Grey Wizard. As soon as he spotted the grey pointed hat and the wooden staff, the hobbit grabbed the old man’s wrist with a strength not quite expected of a halfling.

“Ohh…Woah! Slow down, dear friend!” Gandalf spoke, slightly panting from being dragged at a speed towards the healing quarters. “What is the hurry? I know I am to be missed but I never thought it would be to this extent!” He said cheerfully, unaware of the wary glance the guards were giving him due to his lack of sensitivity about the situation.

“Yes, Gandalf. You—“ Bilbo inhaled. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you right now.” He coughed. “Now…please check on Thorin. He’s…he’s in pain. He has been in pain for days now. We don’t know what exactly is wrong. The medicines aren’t working on him. He doesn’t accept any food. He could no—“

“Halt, my dear hobbit!” Gandalf cut the frantic words. And when before he didn’t notice the grave expressions on the dwarves surrounding him, he could definitely feel the great tension and restlessness filling every corner of the chamber. They still haven’t entered the room where Thorin was but now he could hear the barely suppressed moans subdued through the closed door. 

 

The wizard let out a breath.

“I’ll see him.” 

…

 

When Gandalf went out of the room, everyone couldn’t believe the smile gracing the old man’s lips. They were suspicious of what it might mean. No one spoke, though. Everyone waited patiently for what the wizard was going to say. The silence must have finally reached the wizard’s notice but the smile still didn’t leave his face.

“I need to see his husband. Where is King Thranduil?” Gandalf requested politely. 

No one answered. No one made a move. A cold look was thrown at him and Bilbo did what he can to divert Dis from doing something ugly just hearing the Elf King’s name. 

“He’s back in Mirkwood.” The hobbit informed him.

“Oh…Hmm, I didn’t know of it. I came here riding the Eagle.” The old man mused while the Durin princess approached him.

“Tharkûn. Tell me what is wrong with my brother.” Dis said. Her voice was tight, her face projecting the apprehension building up inside her. The wizard cautiously reached out his hand to cup her cheek and smiled.

“Nothing is wrong with Thorin.” He paused, contemplating how best to speak of the King’s real state. 

“Your Highness…” He started again. “Your brother is with child.” 

There was only the length of a mere second to hear different gasps from the dwarves and the hobbit’s choked reaction before a heavy blow landed on the side of the wizard’s head causing him to fall on the ground like a rag doll, completely knocked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments/reviews will be appreciated!
> 
> P.S. The next chapter after this will be the last chapter. and then an Epilogue if I'll have time to write it as well. 
> 
> Thanks! =D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So many questions are still not answered. But will they still matter, when everything had been so clear from the beginning? Only denial has ever obscured the presence of truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this update would please you! I don’t have enough excuses for the delay except for the inevitable busy matter we call ‘life’. ;) Comments/reviews will be appreciated but please be mindful of the warnings! [If I have mentioned any before every chapter] 
> 
> Oh and also! I said on my previous chapter that this was supposed to be the last chapter, it so happens that I don't want to pile everything in this update so there will be another chapter for the REAL ending. The waiting time though…will be…uuhhh…*runs away* 
> 
> …
> 
> Disclaimer: I wish I could build a universe as great as Tolkien’s creation. Still, fan fiction is the next best thing. 
> 
> Pairing: Thranduil [Elven King of Mirkwood] and Thorin 
> 
> Genre: Romance, Angst, and Friendship, Family
> 
> Warnings: Drama, Slash, Romance/Fluff.

The Grey Wizard was slowly regaining consciousness. One small twitch of his eyelids and the dwarf warrior, standing at the corner of the room, was instantly readying himself to give the old man another blow to the head. It was only Bilbo who actually cared to notice this violent plan for he was the one who had sense enough to save Gandalf from meeting his Maker in this kind of unfortunate situation. The hobbit stood up in his full height and despite the lack of advantage compared to a considerably tall dwarf, he didn’t back down from using his body to shield the wizard’s prone form. Dwalin barely noticed this brave countenance and it was the Durin prince who then decided to interfere when Bilbo began melting down to a degree of uncertainty.

“Mister Dwalin.” The deep tone Fili has used took hold of the dwarf warrior’s attention.

The exchanged glances were both a message, each silently defending whatever it was they were thinking of. It was Dwalin who deemed it appropriate to voice out his reason for attacking the Wizard.

“This old creep is mad.” He started calmly and then there were rustling of sheets from where Gandalf was evidently trying to wave off the confusion as he woke up, still completely oblivious of the looming danger and the threat of Dwalin’s twin knuckle-dusters.

“Thorin being knocked up by an elf? Preposterous!”

In this regard, Fili or anyone for that matter didn’t have any reasonable explanation as to why this might be considered natural or actually true. Never in the history of Dwarves was there ever a male descendant of Durin’s folk that has been recorded to have the ability of carrying a child like that of a Dwarrowdam. Even today, there had been an increasing plummet of verified births from the very few female amongst their people. And this fact had terrified Dís because it meant a great decline in the security of the dwarven line. 

“Oh dear Dwalin. It is indeed an impossible occurrence.” Gandalf slurred as he recouped his posture by leaning heavily on the stonewall. 

Surprised looks landed upon the Wizard’s form, the old man holding the throbbing bump on his head while subtly bringing forward his wooden cane in case anyone would want to grab the opportunity to shut him up again. Dwalin gave him a curious look and brought down his fists to lessen his intimidating stance so the wizard could continue.

“As you all know by now, which I hope you do, the contract was not only agreed between the two leaders of the Kingdoms involved. ‘Eru’, the god of the Elves and ‘Mahal’, the maker of the Dwarves, blessed this particular contract.” He looked at everyone to see if they understood what he was trying to explain. His doubts began to rise when tense silence loomed around the room. 

“It is no simple alliance of arms or written agreement of peace. This is the merging of two races—the creation and the birth of a blessed being to represent harmony, wealth, and happiness.” He paused, feeling the intensity of Dís’ focus on his words. He almost felt sorry for realizing that the Durin princess, the closest kin Thorin has left, wasn’t aware of the fate her brother had been agreed upon in exchange for the enormous wealth of the Lonely Mountain. 

“Thorin might not have been aware of being blessed with this ability but he was young then, when this contract was forged. He accepted his fate for he loved Thranduil and the Elven king adored him more than his Forest.”

Hearing this, it felt like quick sand lodged their throats. All this time, whether or not they have been duly informed of the whole meaning and purpose of the contract, the denial from the truth that the two Kings have indeed wholly dedicated themselves to each other in the past may have been what made accepting this Alliance so painstakingly hard. That with the terrible destruction Smaug and Thror’s greediness have summoned, this pure love had been overwhelmed with stains of sadness, betrayal, hate, and loss.

For several moments, everyone was quiet. The acceptance about this revelation Gandalf has spoken of weighed heavily on their shoulders.

“It’s been decades…” Balin murmured, worry lacing his tone. “With Thorin’s age, the pregnancy will take a lot from him.” They were still not ready to accept this strange prospect but the Elder Dwarf found himself already worrying how they should cope through this revealed situation; however strange it remained to be. 

And as if on instinct, his brown eyes met Dis’ blue ones. Something parallel to fear immediately invaded the blue irises with the darkness of her pupils. It was because the Durin Princess was perfectly aware how dangerous it was for a Dwarrowdam long past her prime birthing age to deliver a child for the first time. Even worse, Thorin was a male dwarf. This indefinite condition may cause him his life. The mere thought sent trembles down her spine and she stared at Gandalf with all the panic she could not and will not bear to hide.

“Tharkûn…” Dís’ whisper was a desperate plea. 

She was a bit taken aback when the Grey Wizard caught her tears and she was enveloped in a fatherly embrace.

“Tell me, Princess… When you were carrying your first born, who is the first person you seek for love and protection? The person that you know will lift up your anxieties…will ease the pain?”

More tears fell from her eyes but they never landed on her cheeks for Gandalf was there to wipe them away.

“V—Vili… My husband…” She answered breathlessly.

Fili and Kili’s expression changed and they sought out each other’s hand. 

“That is why we must call for Thranduil.”

“That is different!” It was an instant response, almost on the borderline of outrage.

“ ** _He_** is different. That wretched elf who only did whatever he wanted! The way he—” She abruptly cut her owns words and nearly choked on what nearly spilled from her lips. All of a sudden it was hard to breathe right. There was no way she would betray her brother by revealing to everyone that this child was a product of Thranduil’s selfishness and vanity.

“He is Thorin’s husband. It is also his child that your brother is carrying. You cannot deny him his right.” Gandalf calmly stated despite the fact that the dwarf princess was seething with barely controlled anger.

…

Dís couldn’t help but pace around in her room. It was the less evil thing she could do at the moment. She was still angry at Gandalf’s suggestion that Thranduil should be called back because his presence might serve as a calming anchor to Thorin’s current pain just like how Vili was with her. The idea was demeaning. Vili may not have come from one of the most respected Noble clans that survived from Smaug’s attack, but he never dared ridicule the reverence he had promised her even before the day of their wedding. Thranduil, in turn, have exploited his power over Thorin instead of patiently waiting for her brother’s trust and love to return to him. 

She stumped her boots harder on the polished ground as if the Elf King’s face was plastered on the entire floor. It disappointed her that no matter how much she grits her teeth, clenches her jaws and fists her hands, the trembling force inside her was still nowhere near subsiding. She was about to complete another full circle in the middle of her receiving room when a single knock stopped her footsteps.

“Enter.” And Bilbo stepped in, slightly hesitating in his tracks. His usual confidence with Dís was currently questionable. The Dwarf Princess was obviously in a dark mood and no one has ventured to visit her in the Chambers after her sharp turn towards the exit of the Healing Rooms. He did have the right to worry for what he was about to say to her might expose his own life to danger; what with the rumors about the Princess’ temper going beyond Thorin’s. 

“How is he?” Dís’ voice was soft but it lacked her normally affectionate tone Bilbo had become used to. 

“Gandalf put a spell on him. He said continuously giving sleeping potions would affect Thorin’s transition and it will take a toll on him when the baby starts growing towards the second phase. ‘Tricking the mind from the pain is better rather than creating chaos in his body’, he says…”

The Princess heard Bilbo’s answer but one word lingered echoing in her ears.

“Transition? What do you mean by transition?” She asked, tone wary.

Bilbo sighed. He would have wanted to get rid of what he originally intended to say in this visit but it would do no good if he could only provide Dís with vague details about Gandalf’s personal statement regarding Thorin’s pregnancy.

“It’s best if we discuss this…” Bilbo cleared his throat, the first twitches of an impending headache poking on his brain. “In the Library, I think.” He finished lamely and nodded to himself.

In the silence that dragged for several minutes, the Halfling almost thought that Dís was going to simply dismiss him. Instead, in the next moment, he felt a light brush of silk sleeves passing by the side of his shoulder and the soft rustling of leather-hemmed skirts sliding on the floor. Dís looked back at him succinctly and in that brief second, he thought he saw Thorin there as well. It wasn’t merely the resemblance between siblings but more the air of authority both so obviously carry in their presence. 

…

 

“Thorin’s body is trying its best to adapt to his new situation. Regrettably, it will be a painful reformation for the change is on physical terms. He is on the stage wherein his inner organs are adjusting to make way for his developing womb. Thus, the reason for his severe stomach cramps.” Gandalf spoke of this as if he himself had been carefully taught how this condition, as peculiar as it can be, shall be following a specific set of progress. 

“There is an informal time frame for every stage Thorin will be going through. The first one, as I have explained with Master Oin and Bilbo earlier, is the most difficult. Once Thorin’s body has completed its transition, the following stages would require us all the support, guidance, love and care we could offer him.” With this, the Wizard turned his attention to Bilbo.

“Bilbo Baggins, did you already send a crow for the King of Mirkwood?” He asked.

The Halfling was about to open his mouth but he blanched in cold sweat when he felt the intensity of Dís’ eyes, keeping him glued on the plush chair they were sat upon. 

The Grey Wizard sighed despairingly. 

He had known the discovery and reestablishment of the century-old agreement between these two races would not entirely go smoothly like it did before the Desolation. Not everyone was informed of this aside from the fact that Thorin had been betrothed to Thranduil when the two kingdoms still mutually harbored the peace throughout their lands. However, the latter fact had long been burned to ashes and it might indeed take another century before Dís could ever consider accepting the Elf King as a valuable brother and friend again.

The cold stare carried on until a servant politely knocked on the door to deliver the scroll that just arrived by their gates. It wasn’t the usual owl of Mirkwood that transported the letter; instead a falcon came directly to the head of the town guards to drop him one of the scrolls. The bird had flown soon afterwards to pass through the Royal Halls to deliver the second letter.

Bilbo couldn’t stand in order to accept the letter as the Dwarf Princess’ eyes still held him in place. Thankfully, Balin eased him off that predicament. The Elder Dwarf accepted it in his stead and decided it best to read Mirkwood’s response aloud. 

The library was still under construction but the lateness of the time had rid the room of bustling workers hours ago. The double doors were guarded outside to protect their privacy so they can have their meeting without many disturbances. For now, they didn’t have to worry too much about how their King was faring for his heirs were there as his personal sentinels while he slept under the influence of Gandalf’s enchantment. 

Balin began reading.

_“My sincerest apologies for taking this matter in my own terms. My father is currently not present in Mirkwood. He has been for weeks now and we know not where he might have gone. We have searched our Forest and the lands beyond and have yet to know his whereabouts. We have also asked the Elves of Rivendell but gained no such luck._

_In all honesty, I am not quite aware of this development in his marriage with King Thorin, and have to ask your understanding that it was not originally my intent to read this letter in my Father’s stead. However, as it was delivered in haste and the news was of utmost importance, as Prince and Heir of Mirkwood, I could not merely ignore and wait for my Father’s return to give our response to your call._

_I am now on my way and will bring forth some guards to go to Erebor to assist in any way we can in place of King Thranduil’s absence._

_Yours,_

_Legolas”_

 

And that was how the letter ended. No remarks of his Titles following the Prince’s name. His response was direct to the point and the sincerity of his words was clear in each politely constructed sentence. It left a rather unexpected impression. 

Surprisingly, it was Dís who stood up and spoke.

“We shall have rooms prepared for the arrival of the Mirkwood Prince and his guards.” She told them and proceeded towards the exit of the room. 

Before she could step further away from the double doors of the library, a familiar small hand held her wrist. She stopped but then waited, looking straight ahead. 

“I was going to tell you about the letter I sent to Mirkwood when I visited you earlier in your room.”

The Halfling was responded with silence.

“I wasn’t expecting that King Thranduil would not be present in his own fortress…” Bilbo began again and trailed off when the Dwarf Princess remained unmoving and taciturn. 

“I have met Prince Legolas once…” He trailed off once more when the memory that he was wearing the ring at the time he actually saw the Prince meant that meeting him wasn’t really the correct term for their encounter.

He looked up instead to see any reaction from Dís. And when he saw it changing her features into a pained grimace, he couldn’t help but be confused. He even thought for a second that the news of Prince Legolas’ presence in place of his Father would be a better turn of events based on the Dwarf Princess’ reaction against calling for Thranduil. Moments of silent regard passed between them before Dís gasped out her need to see her brother. She swiftly slid away her wrist from Bilbo’s firm hold and yanked up her skirts in order to walk faster in the direction of the Healing Rooms. 

Bilbo was at a loss. Even until the dancing waves of the Princess’ skirts left his sight.

…

 

The next morning, the sentries and servants were all busy arranging all the preparations they’ve made for the arrival of the small Elven Army. The rooms have already been set, the townsfolk were briefly informed of who will be arriving by their gates, and it falls upon their responsibility to give the Royal Troupe a fitting welcome despite the short notice. 

Dís was impressed. Although she was not looking forward for the return of some of the elves, she could not deny the fact that she had felt relief when Prince Legolas has responded kindly to Bilbo and Tharkûn’s request. And she was aware that in this moment, everything would temporarily be under her authority to protect the importance of her brother’s sacrifice and duty.

Few more minutes later, the vibration of heavy hooves lightly rattled the grounds of Erebor. There were no banners to significantly reveal that the entourage was of Royalty but merely the insignia carved on their armors glinting by the rays of the sun symbolized their duty in the Mirkwood Fortress. Dwarven guards gave their respects, bowed to show their acknowledgement and a bow in return was given by the Elves.

Legolas, as was expected of a Leader, knelt down in veneration for Dís’ willingness to meet them at the gates herself. He could be honest that he was not expecting it. Nevertheless, it was not this concern they were both formally regarding each other for. The King of Erebor was in dire need of assistance; the kind of support the Dwarf King would never allow being offered by elves. The absence of King Thranduil in his own Kingdom and so far away from his Consort’s side was in itself a show of irresponsibility and selfishness. But Legolas can admit that this was merely Thranduil’s act of recklessness that unfortunately came with the dangerous consequence of putting three important matters at risk. 

_Thorin._

_Mirkwood._

_Himself._

It did matter what came first in the list.

King Thorin. Thranduil’s beloved Consort. His lifetime mission. 

Even though it hurt to admit how his own kin came second in this order, Legolas would never have the heart to blame his father. He had given up far too much that this momentary rashness was but a small dot in the clean slate world he had strived to make himself believe in. 

So here he was, threading through the high corridors of Erebor guided by the Dwarf Princess, without any inkling as to how he could possibly assist King Thorin of what was ailing him. Even if he wished his Father were here, even if it would have been easier for Thranduil to shoulder all his responsibilities as the husband of Thorin, the Dwarf King has gained a huge part in Legolas’ own set of unofficial obligations. It was something he would not deliberately abandon despite his differences with Dís’ brother. 

 

Finally, they have arrived at the doors of the Healing Room. Legolas carefully exhaled the trapped air in his lungs and was mildly surprised how he’d been holding his breath the whole time he was walking with Dís. The Dwarf Princess didn’t make an effort to open a conversation aside from formally welcoming him into their Kingdom then immediately leading him to where Thorin was.

“He has not gained proper consciousness due to Gandalf’s spell. This was to keep him…” Dís paused for a second, looking for an appropriate word, “—let’s say _sedated_ , for him not to suffer through the internal transitions happening in his body.” Her voice was clipped and her words direct. As much as she wanted for this information to be kept within the family, she could not ignore Bilbo’s persistent reasoning that Legolas was, in fact, already an official part of the family.

Two sentries guarding the room pushed open the doors wide enough for the two royalties to enter. Balin was already there with Bilbo by his side both speaking with Gandalf. No one noticed the new arrivals and only stopped conversing when the princess cleared her throat to get their attention. The three faced them and politely regarded each other without the use of words. 

“I must say this wasn’t the scene I was expecting to see.” Gandalf looked around the room to land a look on each individual waiting to see the King. “However, my expectations are not important as of the moment. I am glad you have taken the initiative to offer your presence here Prince Legolas.” The Grey Wizard said and motioned for the Mirkwood Prince to a corner in the room. Same with the others, Mithrandir went straight to the core of the story and the relevance of Thorin and Thranduil’s union that peculiarly but inevitably resulted to the Dwarf King’s pregnancy.

 

…

 

Thorin’s gaze travelled beyond the formation of rocks and the line of trees from the frame of his window. He could not do more than stare at the unwavering nature due to Bilbo’s firm insistence that the fair weather will soon take a turn and bless the fields with a heavy downpour. The King was highly skeptical about this claim for the sun was still shining brightly upon the wide spread of blue and he couldn’t help but long to be outside for a change of pace. Another ten minutes have passed though and there was a drastic change in the breeze that suddenly invaded his bedroom. A shiver ran through his body, making him clutch the blanket on his lap to wrap it around himself. He looked up to witness the clouds meeting with the dark feathers that were not present in the horizon just a moment ago.

_Hmmm…Bilbo had been right then._

A brief knock on the door was his only warning before booted footsteps entered his chamber and immediately went straight for the window that has now become a passageway for the strong gusts of wind. Once all of the other windows were closed, his visitor spoke while moving to build a fire in the hearth.

“The storm will calm by morning.” A sort of silent hesitation made him pause and Thorin quietly waited in return.

“I apologize for suddenly entering your chambers. I was on my way to the Royal Hall and I felt the swift change in the breeze, so I have decided to drop by your room to check on you.” The sentence sounded like a hasty retreat. The awkwardness that followed through the silence made the crackling of wood in the hearth reverberate like a quiet dismissal. The visitor was about to leave when the Dwarf King’s soft tone reached his ears, its familiar deep rumble assuaged with exhaustion.

“You may perform it.”

“Pardon, my Liege?”

“You are to ‘check’ on me…which meant that you are the one tasked to perform overseeing my condition for the evening.” Thorin directed his eyes towards bemused blue ones. 

“I am saying you have my permission to do so, Prince Legolas.” He slowly stood up from his seat and approached his bed when the prince still maintained an uncertain distance from him. He leaned by the head of the bedstead after Legolas finally realized the sincerity of his words. 

The relationship between the two of them had always been like this ever since the time he knew of the prince’s willingness to take responsibility of his father’s absence. Not that Thorin was looking forward to an elf’s aid with his condition, but there will eventually be a time when making the most unlikely choices will offer you more peace of mind. This was no longer a matter of prejudices and differences. Even if the Dwarf King still couldn’t grasp the idea of a life, now so obviously growing in his body, he did not have the heart to simply ignore what has become his strange reality. It had been hard to accept so many facts and sudden turns in his life for the past months but he could fairly admit that he was able to go through with it because of the people around him. They have all struggled to acknowledge it and that was one thing they all did together. 

Despite him and the prince having disparities with each other, Legolas had surprisingly been patient all throughout the time he had to endure Thorin’s initial rage about his own situation. And this, the Dwarf King was not going to take lightly.

“Tell me honestly if you feel uncomfortable.” Legolas was now looking at him with the same confidence he had when they met at the Mirkwood forest. However, there was a different fire in his eyes and in his tone. It was not of the disgust he once felt for the greedy dwarf but with the respect he was starting to harbor for the renewed Dwarf King. Nevertheless, the enormous change of Thorin’s physical appearance due to a still questionable part of his transition always broke Legolas’ reservation. At one point even, the whole kingdom had been in an uproar for seeing their high leader as beardless as the day he was born. The way his greying hair also returned to its midnight fullness made them question if a physical proof of their age and experience was now allowed to be masked in exchange merely for self-gratification. Those accusations were all as absurd as the real situation itself. A civil war had nearly started but four months of painstaking explanation from the Council and the King himself, finally calmed down the people. 

 

Legolas once again glanced at Dwarf King’s face, discreetly studying the more youthful facade and saw him nod. Thorin untied his belt and peeled off the layers of soft tunic covering his stomach. With another nod to assure Legolas that he was allowed to touch him, the elf prince gently placed his palms over the noticeable bump. The chant to open the spell was brief and then a gold-green glow emanated from the connection between palm and skin. Gradually, a small blob and swirls of light emerged a few inches above Thorin’s stomach. Legolas watched as they moved. He observed their distinct form and waves. An unusual manifestation formed on his lips and the dwarf king had to admit he was surprised to see this. It was rare for the typically stoic prince’s face to grace such an expression. 

“He is faring very well. His body is developing at a healthy rate.” A few moments later and the spell ended. Legolas’ face had a reflection of wonder and in passing it might have gone to disappointment when the image of the growing fetus vanished along with the magic. Unlike the other elves, the prince was a warrior and so it was with acceptance that he would not have the same amount of healing power and magic compared to the scholars who were immensely educated in that line of duty. 

“I must admit that it is you I am concerned about. The child is no doubt in very good condition but you are declining the right amount of sustenance you need for yourself.” The prince said and he made a point to look at Thorin’s bony fingers and his slightly sunken cheeks. He already appealed his suspicion that his age might be one of the factors why the king has become substantially frail throughout the transition, regardless of the evident physical change. The Dwarven Council did see that clearly as well. They didn’t deny it and Dís was the only one who had decided to tell him of her concerns with this particular part of the pregnancy.

Thorin sighed while he was fixing his robes. Tying his belt, he slowly adjusted his position to lie down properly on the plush sheets. The prince understood the gesture and promptly stood up from the chair by the bed. 

“From now on, I wish to take the duty of checking on you. I know the dear Hobbit will take care of your stubbornness.” It was a set of bold words coming from Legolas, knowing that he still have a delicate interaction with the dwarf king. Nevertheless, he could not help but test for some reaction.

“I am a Durin.” –Was simply Thorin’s murmured response. As if that fact explained everything—which maybe it did. 

If it weren’t for Legolas’ heightened senses as an elf, he would’ve missed it. 

_“You carry the name Oropherion now as well. With it, is another kind of stubbornness.”_ Legolas thought as he walked out the door and began walking through the dark hall. It made him think of his King and his infuriating willfulness. Before, he may have wished to have nothing to do with the Royal Dwarves. But witnessing the effect his father’s irresponsible disappearance has brought forth to the two kingdoms, he was beginning to contemplate piercing an arrow through his thick head. For all the wrong the decisions King Thranduil has made, running away from this might just be his worst one. 

 

…

 

Thorin waited for the click of the door closing and for the soft echoes of footsteps outside his chambers to tone back down to its usual quiet. Recently, his days were always filled with people going over his condition, asking about his feelings, making him eat more than he could take—but the looks they give him were what he always pondered upon. Subtle as they try to do it, deep inside he could feel the meaning of their words more than their tone suggested so. He could not bring himself to blame them. There was nothing to blame or accuse them of. They were family and it was greatly part of their understanding to worry about him, regardless of the title he held. 

He had also begun to stop his thoughts from trailing towards the father of the child he’s carrying. It was a taxing feat and yet that was all he could think of to do for the man, or rather elf, was not present for him to verbally dump him half of the burden.

The Dwarf King carefully cradled the swell of his stomach. Even though he has yet to completely grasp the idea of nurturing a life within him, there was no other choice or reason to conjure to ignore it still—for the beating of another heart reverberating throughout his body was the very proof of what the contract has called, ‘the Blessing by the gods’. Same thoughts and other new ones lingered in his head as sleep finally welcomed him in its comforting darkness. 

A full year since the discovery of his pregnancy will already pass by the time the next sun rises high up in the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the reviews I've received. I hope you didn't forget about my story. See you next chapter! :))


	6. Author's Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize in advance for this not being an update. But I'd appreciate your time for reading this message.

 

Greetings everyone. I hope you guys still remember me or at least my story/stories.

It's been quite a long time since I last posted here....I think it was last May or July? I'm not sure.

So the reason I've been gone was that I was in the state of....well, depression.

Last year, when I was preparing myself to take my Master's in London, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. I know this isn't your concern and I'm sorry for saying these all here. I just wanted some kind of outlet. I was out of job at the time since I was finalizing my requirements in the University and so that became convenient for me to take care of my mother. The rest of the story was that things didn't go well and I really had a hard time coping with my mom's passing. I could no longer pursue with my Master's as well.

So here I am now, trying to get back to the things I was doing before just to grasp some kind of normalcy again.

~~I browsed for some stories to read in here just to get that spark of inspiration to carry on with the last chapter of 'Beyond Realms and Kingdoms' and then I happened to stumble upon this fic entitled, "You used to adore me..." written by CryaotiC [I don't know if this story/author rings a bell in some of you and I also apologize if 'name dropping' would be a breach of Ao3's rules.] I was reading it actually 'cause based on the summary it was kind of similar to the theme of B.R.A.K. Then I went and read on to the second chapter and found out that the first part of B.R.A.K. had been re-phrased in it. Of course, I would recognize my own literary voice. Some words and phrases were delivered somewhat different and there were a few things that were added but still, it was plagiarism.~~

~~I'm sorry. I'm not really here messaging everyone about me coming back just to dump this to you. Also, this isn't a bashing of the author 'Cryaotic'. Just...I want to clear things up and better yet, have her remove what was obviously taken from my story.~~

PHew....

Here's the real Announcement.

I'm returning again in fanfiction writing as long as I can get all the muse and ideas back in my head again. As for the real update on 'Beyond Realms and Kingdoms', please expect it this year. I'm saying this year 'cause currently my laptop is stuck in Apple and I can't access the first half I've already written for the last chapter.

I hope you guys are still interested and will be waiting for it.

Thank you, everyone. Thank you for listening. Hope to hear from you guys soon. ;)


End file.
